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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 






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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 


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WONDER STORIES 



TRAVEL 



BY 



ELIOT Mccormick, ernest ingersoll 

E. E. brown, DAVID KER, 
AND OTHERS 



EllustratetJ 




BOSTON 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 

32 Franklin Street 






Copyright, 1886, 

by 

D. LoTHROP & Company. 



A BOY'S RACE WITH GEN- 
ERAL GRANT AT EPHESUS. 

THE Turkish battery ashore thundered a royal 
salute to General Grant as the Vaiulalia which 
bore him from port to port in the Mediterranean 
steamed up to her anchorage in the harbor of 
Smyrna. Thirty great iron-clads followed in quick 
succession ; men-of-war crowded the harbor. They 
had been ordered into Turkish waters on account of 
the war then raging between Turkey and Russia. 
From ship and shore thousands of spectators watched 
the Vandalia's approach with eager interest, and 
from the foremast of every vessel and the flagstaffs 
of the city the American flag waved the General a 
glad and hearty welcome. 

No one in all the city was more pleased at his 
arrival than Fred Martin, the son of an American 



A BOY S RACE WITH GENERAL GRANT. 

merchant resident in Smyrna. He stood with the 
crowd upon the quay cheering enthusiastically. 

Fred had sailed with his mother from New York 
when he was but three years old, and his memories 
of his native land were consequently vague and fan- 
ciful. His playmates were the little Greek and Ar- 
menian boys of his neighborhood, and the few 
English children belonging to the British consulate. 
He had told his comrades, in glowing words, the his- 
tory of General Grant. Fred was very precocious, 
and had learned several languages. In his play with 
the Greek boys he had learned to speak Greek, and 
in the same pleasant way the Armenian boys had 
taught him their language. Besides, in the streets 
and bazaars he had picked up Turkish and Arabic 
enough to converse quite easily with the merchants 
speaking those languages. So great was Fred's pro- 
ficiency that at home he went by the name of " the 
little polyglot." 

The boys shouted and cheered till they found that 
General Grant would not come ashore that day, and 
gradually they departed for their homes. We will 
leave General Grant to receive the official courtesies 



A BOV S RACE WITH GENERAL GRANT. 

of the authorities of the city and the admirals and 
captains of the fleet, and proceed with Master 
Fred. 

Fred was the owner of a beautiful little Arabian 
horse, which made him the envy of every boy of his 
acquaintance. This horse was the Christmas gift of 
his father. Christmas eve he had been secretly led 
to Mr. Martin's stable, that in the morning Fred 
might receive a happy surprise. Early Christmas 
morning Fred was sent to the stable on some trifling 
errand, and what was his astonishment to see a new 
horse quietly munching his breakfast. His delight 
knew no bounds when he found a blue ribbon tied 
around the pony's neck (for Fred at once called him 
a pony), to which was attached a card, on which was 
written : 

" Fred Martin. From his affectionate father, Christ- 
mas, 1877." 

The pony had been purchased from an Arab. 
This Arab with his little family had wandered far 
from his own country, and at length had settled in the 
environs of Smyrna. Through sickness and poverty 
he was compelled to part with his beautiful horse, 



A BOY S RACE WITH GENERAL GRANT, 

his children crying bitterly, and fondly caressing him, 
as he was led away from the tent. 

Mr. Martin's conscience almost smote him as he 
witnessed this poor familji's grief ; but the Arab 
motioned to him to hasten away, signifying that the 
children wovild soon forget their sorrow. 

The pony, as he was called, was of the purest 
Arabian blood. He was so gentle that Fred's little 
sisters ran into his stall and played without hesita- 
tion around his feet. Yet he had all the metal and 
fire of his royal race. In color he was milk-white, 
and his neck arched like the curve of an ivory bow. 
His head was small and elegant ; so perfect, indeed, 
that an artist had taken it as a model for a handsome 
ideal Arabian in a fine picture he was painting. The 
pony's ears were satin-like, and responded to the 
slightest impression with a quick, tremulous move- 
ment that betokened the keenest intelligence. His 
eyes beamed with affection and loyalty. Ladies de- 
lighted to run their fingers through his soft, silken 
hair ; and they loved to pet him as he held his nose 
to them to be stroked, as they would a beautiful 
child. 



A boy's race with general grant. 

Fred had read the lives of Alexander the Great and 
Sir Walter Scott. He had been charmed by the allu- 
sions to their fondness for riding and hunting in their 
boyhood days, and he emulated them in many a gal- 
lop and chase among the hills surrounding the city. 
Many a hare and partridge had he run down and shot, 
and brought home in triumph hanging to the pommel 
of his saddle. Many a time he had startled the shep- 
herds and frightened their sheep by dashing upon 
them around some sharp curve, for which misde- 
meanor he had to put spurs to the pony to escape the 
shepherds' wrath. Besides, he had ridden to many 
places which travellers go thousands of miles to see. 
He could point out the different layers in the walls of 
the old castle overlooking the city, which was first built 
by Alexander the Great, and last by the Saracens. He 
could guide travellers to the beautiful ruins of an 
ancient temple erected to Homer ; and several times 
he had ridden into the very cave where many scholars 
believe the great poet Homer at one time lived. 
These excursions were attended by many dangers, but 
somehow Fred came out of them unharmed. 

After General Grant had been several days in 



A BOY S RACE WITH GENERAL GRANT. 

Smyrna, Fred was overjoyed at receiving an invitation 
to accompany him on a grand excursion to the ruined 
city of Ephesus, lying fifty miles from Smyrna. His 
father told him that he might take the pony with him, 
as several freight-cars were to be filled with horses 
and donkeys for the use of the party. The Pasha — 
the governor of that district of Turkey — had arranged 
for this excursion as his greatest compliment to Gen- 
eral Grant. He chartered a large train ; ordered a 
mounted body-guard of Turkish officers to proceed to 
Ephesus, and a regiment of troops to receive the Gen- 
eral at the depot with military honors. The party 
needed a strong military escort, for at Ephesus there 
are robbers who live in caves, and watch for dis- 
tinguished visitors, whom they sometimes capture, and 
demand a heavy ransom for their release. 

Fred galloped early to the depot. He kept the 
pony quiet amid the general confusion, with extreme 
difficulty. The donkey drivers were mercilessly 
pounding the donkeys, and yelling at them, to get 
them into the car ; the grooms were struggling with 
the restive horses ; dogs were yelping ; the sold- 
iers were going through their exercises, and there 



A BOY S RACE WITH GENERAL GRANT. 

was a bewildering medley of unpleasant sounds. 

By much persistence Fred got the pony into a car 
with a fine gray horse and a snow-white mule sent 
from the Pasha's stables for General and Mrs. Grant. 
Fred was almost wonder-struck at the sight of these 
beautiful animals. The horse was dressed in gor- 
geous housings. The saddle was heavily embroidered 
and plated with gold ; even the buckles and rings were 
of gold, and a rich gold filigree work covered the bridle 
and portions of the reins and girths. Fred had heard of 
the richness of Oriental accoutrements, but he was not 
prepared for such magnificence as this. The mule was 
not dressed so regally, but being regarded a sacred 
animal by the Pasha, a queen could not have desired 
a greater compliment than was offered Mrs. Grant in 
the sending of this mule for her use. 

When the General arrived, all things were ready, 
nnd the train swept out into an enchanting valley. 
Past Turkish villages it ran, the little Turkish boys, 
like many boys in more civilized countries, giving it a 
vigorous salute with pebbles as it hurried on. Often 
it passed trains of camels making their tedious way 
to bordering countries, and occasionally a hunter and 



A boy's race with general grant. 

his dogs would seem to start out of a jungle or hill- 
side, as if on purpose to delight Master Fred. 

In an hour's time the train thundered over the 
river Cayster and shot into the depot at Ayasolook. 
Instantly all was confusion again. The horses and 
donkeys were hustled out of the cars. The horses 
were arranged in cavalry line, and the donkeys were 
drawn up in the rear. General Grant gave the signal 
to mount, and the men of the party instantly vaulted 
into the saddle. The white mule had been behaving 
strangely for an animal of his reputation, and Mrs. 
Grant was advised not to undertake to ride him. She 
wisely listened to advice, for the mule turned out on 
this particular occasion to be very careless with his 
heels, and to have a very abrupt way of stopping, 
which obliged his rider to travel on a short distance 
alone. Mrs. Grant had been so well acquainted with 
mules in the West that she had in fact no confidence 
even in a sacred mule. By some means she with the 
other ladies got the smallest and most tired-looking 
donkeys. Now they put spurs to their horses, leav- 
ing the donkeys with their unfortunate riders far be- 
hind. 



A boy's race with general grant. 

For a moment only they stop to look at the few 
pieces of glittering marble which are all that remain 
of the snowy blocks and columns of the once glorious 
temple of Diana. They decide to skirt the plain ly- 
ing between Ayasolook and Ephesus, by riding along 
an ancient breakwater ; they pause for an instant to 
listen to the rustle of the long grass against the wall 
where once was heard the ebb and flow of the sea. 
Up they climb among a whole cluster of temples, 
stopping only to look at the face of a shattered statue, 
or at a beautiful carved hand extended almost be- 
seechingly from a heap of rubbish. The horses 
stumble through public squares, regaining solid 
footing for an instant on some broad pedestal of a 
once world-renowned monument. Now Fred's pony 
flounders in the basin of an old fountain, into which 
he has been forced to leap. The ruins seem to rise 
up in waves, and they are obliged to dismount and 
lead their horses up to the great theatre, where they 
halt for rest and lunch. 

Fred tied the pony to the foot of a prostrate 
Apollo and slipped away to explore this great build- 
ing for himself. He climbed to the top of the hill, 



A boy's race with general grant. 

on the side of which the theatre was built, and 
looked in wonder upon the stage far below. This 
great interior contained seats for 50,000 people. 
Fred fancied he could almost hear the thunder of 
applause from distant ages, like the far-away roar of 
the sea. He now clambered down to look at the 
foundations of the building. The great pillars and 
arches stood as firmly as the day on which they were 
completed. St. Paul had looked upon the same 
grand architecture that he now beheld. 

As he looked he began to stir the earth carelessly 
with his whip-handle. Suddenly he brought a curious 
object to the surface, which he picked up and care- 
fully examined. With his knife he dug away the 
erosion, and saw by the glitter underneath that the 
object was of gold. In other places something which 
he could not cut resisted his knife. It now occurred to 
him that he had found a bracelet, and he hastened to 
"the company with his treasure. An antiquarian in 
the party, upon close examination, found that Fred 
had unearthed what had been a very costly bracelet. 
It was of rare design, and set all around with precious 
stones ; doubtless it had glittered many times upon 



A boy's race WrXH GENERAL GRANT. 

the fair arm of some ancient performer. All were de- 
lighted at Fred's discovery, and felt that this little 
souvenir in itself would make the day memorable. 
In a short time they had visited the market-place, the 
stadium — a building which held 76,000 people — the 
odeon, or music hall, and the cave of the Seven Sleep- 
ers, and were ready to start back. 

As several conjectured, on their return General 
Grant proposed a grand race. Lying between them 
and the depot was a smooth plain three miles in ex- 
tent. On the further side a leaning column could be 
seen, which was at once selected as the reaching-post. 
A Turkish officer was chosen umpire and sent on in 
advance. General Grant had noticed Fred's pony 
many times during the day, and was greatly pleased 
with his exquisite beauty. He thought it possible 
that the pony might be the sharpest competitor his 
own elegant, high-spirited gray would have in the 
race, and he beckoned Fred to take a position at his 
side. The starting-point was to be an immense sar- 
cophagus, in which a noble Greek had once been 
buried, but which now, from some cause, lay upturned 
on the edge of the plain. At this place ten superbly 



A boy's race with general grant. 

mounted horsemen drew up in line, with General 
Grant and Fred on the right. 

The English consul gave the signal for start- 
ing. 

Fred shook the reins upon the pony's neck, and he 
bounded forward as gracefully as a deer. The pony 
instinctively prepared himself for the race. Both 
horses were of princely pedigree and showed their blood 
in the sylph-like ease with which they moved. Fred 
knew that in horsemanship the odds must be greatly 
in favor of General Grant. How Fred admired him 
as he sat upon the gray, every inch the general ; and 
he felt almost alarmed at the thought of contesting 
the race with such a splendid horseman ! But he 
quickly made up his mind to compete for the honors 
as sharply as he could. His light weight he knew to 
be in his favor, and he had all confidence in the 
pony's speed and courage ; even then he could feel 
him tremble under his growing excitement. 

They all had made an even start, and for many rods 
had kept together; but now Fred and the General 
began to push ahead. The pony's silken tail 
brushed the shoulder of the foremost horse, while his 



> 




A boy's race with general grant. 

handsome mane tossed against the bridle-rein of his 

antagonist. 

It was a fine sight to see these two beautiful horses 
settle down for the remaining two-mile run. The 
movement of each was perfect. There was no con- 
vulsive effort, no waste of energy. They glided on- 
ward as smoothly as the flight of birds. Nose to nose, 
neck to neck, shoulder to shoulder they flew. Neither 
the General nor Fred seemed to gain an inch, and 
neither seemed to care whether the other won or not. 
Patches of meadow grass brilliant with wild flowers, 
pieces of rich sculpture, a thousand rare objects that 
once shone in beautiful houses or more beautiful tem- 
ples, lay scattered along their course ; but they were 
unnoticed in the glorious speed. 

But a half-mile remains, and each horse is making 
his best time. The sun lights up horses and riders, 
so that they seem like phantoms sweeping over the 
plain. Now with a bound they cross a wide ditch, 
the General's horse distancing the pony by several 
feet. The pony clings to him like a shadow. One 
touch of the spur upon his hot flank, and he recovers 



A boy's race with general grant. 

his lost ground. Never was there so close a race 
before ! Now it is whip and spur, words of command 
and words of encouragement, and the horses seem 
scarcely to touch the ground. Now the General 
leads, now Fred. The goal is reached ! 

The umpire did not decide. 

Fred told the Greek boy that night that he won it. 
If you are anxious to know who did win, ask the 
General. 



INDIAN CHILDREN AND 
THEIR PETS. 

MANY people suppose that the Indian children 
have no dolls or pets. 

This is a mistake. The Indian baby, or pappoose, 
is provided by its squaw-mother with a sort of doll 
from its earliest infancy. 

The baby itself is tied to a board which is covered 
with buckskins and fanciful bindings, or with bright- 
colored cloth ornamented with bead-work and tinsel. 
This baby-board, which is carriage and cradle in one, 
looks like the toe of a large slipper, and has a piece 
of wood bent across the head to protect its Utile cop- 
per-colored occupant from being struck by anything. 
Just as her convenience may prompt, the squaw hangs 
her pappoose, thus cradled, on her back while walk- 
ing, or in a tree when working about the tent, or on 



INDIAN CHILDREN AND THEIR PETS. 

the saddle pommel as represented" in the picture. 
From the protecting headboard hangs suspended the 
doll composed of feathers, beads and red cloth, per- 



^ ,« 



^-P 




LITTLE INDIAN GIRLS AND THEIR " PAPPOOSES." 



haps representing an Indian warrior. The little pap- 
poose looks at this dangling image all day long, and 



INDIAN CHILDREN AND THEIR PETS. 

this monotonous endeavor often causes a horrible 
squint from which the little Indian never recov- 
ers. 

The squaw-mothers sometimes make miniature 
pappooses, bound to cradle-boards in fancy covering, 
like their own, for the older children to play with ; 
but it is a still commoner sight to see the girls carry- 
ing a puppy in a little blanket over their shoulders. 
It seems strange that they should make of their pets 
what is considered the greatest delicacy, puppy-stew, 
which is the chief dish of a feast given in commemo- 
ration of a child having become a certain age. 

The little Indians also make pets of crows. A lit- 
tle girl will often daily carry about with her a wicker 
basket filled with baby crows just as they are taken 
from the nest by her brother. Beside her an old dog 
will often be wiled along, dragging her puppies in a 
similar net or basket stretched across transverse poles. 

The Indian boys have pet colts to ride ; and they 
make pets of young eagles, which they put on a sort 
of stand with a string attached to one leg to prevent 
the birds from flying away. 

The boys also early learn to use the bow and 



INDIAN CHILDREN AND THEIR PETS. 



arrows, and are often occupied in driving blackbirds 
and cowbirds from the growing maize. 

Corn is the only vegetable cultivated by the Indian, 
'and the Chippewas, who are semi-civilized, grind 







LITTLE INDIAN GIRLS AND THEIR PETS. 



their corn into a sort of coarse samp by pounding it 
in a mortar with a wooden pestle. They also roast 
the ears, and dry it for winter use. Great groups of 
children will sit with a squaw (perhaps mending moc- 
casins) to help them at their work and preserve order, 
on high platforms the whole day, overlooking the 



INDIAN CHILDREN AND THEIR PETS. 

corn-fields, so as to drive away (lie birds as they 
alight in flocks. Picture No. 3 represents a group 
at a little " Indian meal," which plays both ways — 
as it is Indian meal they are feasting on. The lodges, 
or tepees, in the background are peculiar to the 
Chippewa tribe, being made of birch bark wrapped 
around poles. 




INDIAN BABY AND DOLL. 



The older boys amuse themselves by different 
games while tending the horses, one of which is rep- 
resented. First they sjoread upon the ground a buf- 
falo hide on which they kneel facing each other. 



INDIAN CHILDREN AND THEIR PETS. 

Then one takes a little stick and passes it from one 
hand to the other, first behind and then before, while 
the other boy guesses which hand it is in. He is en- 
titled to three guesses. The first, if right, counts 
him three ; the second, two ; and the third, one. If 
he misses altogether, he loses according to the num- 
ber put up for stake. The one guessing designates 
his guess by hitting his right or left shoulder, accord- 
ing to the hand he thinks his opponent holds it 
in. 

This, like all other Indian games, is made interest- 
ino- by the stakes, which generally consist of some 
ornament, or some service to be rendered. 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

How did Riga get into the chimney ? 
Well, if the truth must be told, it was net 
merely a chimney, l)ut the window; and not a win- 
dow only, but the front door; and not only the front 
door, but the staircase. It was, in fact, so much of 
all four, that it was but slightly like any one of them. 
Things were altogetlier upside-down in this house. 
Instead of being built on the ground like all reason- 
able houses, it was under it; and although it Lad but 
one place to come in at, and but one fire to cook at, 
so many people lived inside of it in tents of their own 
that it was in reality a vilhxge ; and yet again, it was 
a village where you had only to lift the skin wall ff 
your one-roomed dwelling to get into your neigh 
bor's. 

The land was Kamschatka, and Riga was a small 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

boy of that coM country. He had been outside to 
get some milk from the deer, and had come to the 
hole that formed the entrance, and taken the first 
step down on the notched pole that was to land him 
in the fire if he didn't take a good leap over when 
he got to the bottom. 

It was already dark. Above him one of the dogs 
— there were twenty or thirty in all — got a smell of 
the milk, or a smell of a pot on the fire ; and as he 
sniffed greedily through chimney (we might as 
well call it that), he lost his balance and came 
tumbling head and heels over Riga with a prodigious 
racket and howling into the village below. Riga, 
who was fat, thought he was going too : but he clung 
to the notched pole till he had his senses again, and 
then he clung the tighter because of something 
else. 

At the foot of the pole burned a fire of moss which 
gave much heat, little light, and more smoke than 
anything else; this smoke hung duskily around the 
chimney, and went out lazily as it happened to feel in- 
clined. Riga's entrance had been covered bythe dog's 
fall, the smoke and dust hid him effectually, and some- 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

thing stopped him from coming clown. It was a lit- 
tle whisper which, although addressed to a person 
close by the whisperer's side, scaled the pole for the 
benefit of Riga's curious ears. 

"Hush! some one came in." 

"You are mistaken, for no one comes down." 

" Some one is listening, then." 

"Lopka, you suspect everything. Who would stop 
up there, and why ? and who would know there was 
anything to listen to ? " 

Riga was listening, however; and although his 
position was most uncomfortable, his curiosity was so 
excited by hearing a conversation which was not in- 
tended for any one to hear, that he bent his ears 
more eagerly than ever, and was as silent as a snow- 
flake. 

"When can it be done?" whispered Lopka 
shrilly, 

" When all are asleep." 

" We may be asleep too." 

"Trust me for that." 

" Can we get out without rousing the sleepers ? 
Do you think the herd will be quiet .-•" 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

"We have no one to fear but the curious Riga; 
that boy always has one ear open." 

" That is so ; " thought Riga in the chimney, " and 
now I see the wisdom of it." He gave a movement 
of satisfaction, and some of the milk splashed hissing 
down into the fire. 

"What is that, Svorovitch ? " asked Lopka. 
" I have often heard that sound in the fire," was 
the reply, "and my father says if it is a saint's day, 
the saint weeps for some wrong done." 

At this moment the thick pungent smoke tickled 
Riga's nose, and he gave vent to three good hearty 
sneezes.. The two boys below jumped to their feet 
and ran away. 

"There is still more, and it may be learned by 
listening," murmured Riga as he went down. " I am 
not a saint, but I will do more than Aveep if any 
wrong is about to be done." 

It was the wintertime; the cold' was intense. If 
you should put your uncovered face out of doors, the 
eyelashes would freeze to your cheeks. The weath- 
er was so fierce, the clouds so threatening, that but 
few of the men had ventured out ; such as had, rode 



RIOA IN THE CHIMNEY, 

up swiftly on their sledges at nightfall, set the deer 
free among the herd, and gathered round the 
lire to sleep, or talk over the adventures of the day. 

Among other things, this bitterest night of all, they 
returned to the conversation of several preceding 
nights, about two Englishmen with their guide, be- 
lated by the snows of an early winter. These trav- 
ellers had pressed on towards a port on the coast, 
thinking to winter there comfortably until some ship 
would sail for San Francisco; but reports had now 
reached the tribe of a fatal accident to one of the 
reindeer; and wise Lodovin shook his head. He 
was seventy years old, and knew everything. 

"There was a spot,'' he said, "near the Kamschat- 
kan shore, a hut underground constructed from 
a wrecked vessel by some sailors. All guides know 
of this place. 'I'here was fuel there, and they would 
not freeze; but they could have had no provisions 
worth sj^eaking of, and either they must die of star- 
vation, or go on and perish in the coming storm upon 
the toondra." 

This had been repeated each night since Lodovin 
had heard of the dead deer ; but his listeners were 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

willing to receive an observation many times for 
want of fresher. 

Usually Riga sat long in the midst of the circle ; 
but to-night he withdrew early to his particular home, 
a small enclosure a few feet square, where the whole 
family slept, lighted by a bit of moss floating in oil. 
He had seen Lopka enter the next room ; and the 
fear of missing him brought him early to lie on his 
own floor where he could peep beneath the edge of the 
skin. Later, when everything was quiet, the same 
anxiety made him crawl out and take up his old 
place on the notched pole, where he clung silent and 
immovable, but listening and looking intently, every 
sense merged into his sense of curiosity. 

Ah, woe to Riga in the chimney ! two quiet figures 
suddenly came straight to the pole, and one began 
to mount. To mount ? Yes ; and seeing Riga, to 
seize him by the foot and sternly bid him be silent 
and go out. 

In spite of his sturdy saintship, the surprised Riga 
was frightened to death by the knife in Svorovitch's 
hand ; and not daring to disobey, he tremblingly did 
as he was told. 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

He was speedily followed by Lopka and Svorovitch. 
Holding him well, and forcing him to assist them, 
the youths fastened to a sled three of the best and 
fleetest deer of the herd, which Riga very well knew 
did not belong to them. That done, they paid no 
attention to his entreaties, but taking him with them 
in the sled, the long, steady pace of the deer soon 
left their home behind them. 

Riga now began to cry and beg them to spare his 
life. " You are going to cut my throat and bury me 
in the toondra," he said. "You had better not, or I 
will do you some harm as soon as I am a saint." 

Svorovitch burst into a loud laugh. " Cut your 
throat!" he said; "child, the tempest and the cold 
may kill you, but we shan't. No, you might be safe 
this minute if we could have trusted you to go back 
and be quiet. But we know you would have waked 
the whole tribe to ask questions of what we were 
about, and they would have followed us." 

From what Lopka and Svorovitch spoke of after 
this, Riga learned they were bound on a journey to 
some distant point and were racing to reach it 
against the storm. Further than that he learned 



RIGA IN THE CHIISINEY. 

nothing, for he was too sleepy now to be inquisitiw 
and, carefully sheUered b\- his companions, he soon 
lost all consciousness of even his own fat little 
person. 

x\n Arctic winter storm on the great toondra — do 
you know what that means? Fancy three of the 
worst snow-storms that ever you have seen, taking 
place at one and the same time, the fierce, icy bitter 
wind roaring and sweeping with terrible force across 
an endless plain, the air blinding, sight impossible, 
and you will know why Lopka and S\orovitch, and 
e\'en Riga, gazed often and anxiously at- the clouds 
throughout the following day. With eyes and ears 
always on the alert, and well on the alert at that, our 
little saint thought he heard now and then strange 
sounds of great distant winds nearing them, and at 
last he began to discover, as he peered upwards, the 
thick look in the air that tells that snow is on the 

way. 

" The wind is rising," said Riga. " You ought to 
take me home;" but though he wished to cry, he 
kept his tears back bravely. Suddenly he cried out, 
" The storm ! " 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

And it was the storm, the great Arctic storm, com- 
iiv4- all at once, blinding and thick, borne on the 
wind, and sweeping over the ground as if it never 
meant to stop or rest there. 

"We can go no further," cried Svorovitch. "We, 

too, shall be lost ! " 

"Don't despair, little brother," said Lopka, but 
at the same time turning away his face. 

Here the alert little Riga lifted his fat face to tell 
them that he had for some time heard the ocean, and 
that just as the snow appeared he had seen a vol- 
cano in the ground : perhaps from these signs they 
could tell where they were. 

The roaring of the tempest was so terrible that it 
was now impossible to distinguish the sound of the 
waves ; but when Riga was questioned as to his vol- 
cano, and could only ans'wer that he had seen smoke 
coming directly from the ground in a certain direc- 
tion, Svorovitch exclaimed aloud, and springing out of 
the sledge ran a few^ feet from them. Following the 
sound of his voice, Riga and Lopka found him on his 
knees with his head bent above a black pipe setting 
a little above the earth. 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

" They are here," he cried, " it is the place ! They 
answer me." 

In a few moments the figure of a man appeared in 
the storm, seized upon them, and leading them a few 
steps further, descended by a slanting passage into a 
snug little under-ground cabin, free of smoke and 
passably light, where the boys found themselves face 
to face with the two English travellers. Their mut- 
ual explanations, though given with some difficulty, 
showed how the guide had stolen off with the re- 
maining deer and left them to their fate, and that 
that morning they had eaten the last of their provi- 
sions ; and how the adventurous Lopka and Svoro- 
vitch, pitying their condition, had determined to set 
out and save them at any risk. Riga comprehended 
what was not explained to the Englishmen — that it 
was undertaken in secret, for neither of the boys yet 
owned deer of their own, and had no hope of being 
successful in borrowing such as they needed. After 
all, he had not guessed rightly in the chimney, and 
he felt that there is something more to know of 
people than what one finds out by eavesdropping. 
Things half heard often look wrong : when the 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

whole is seen they may turn out nobly right. 

The gratitude of the travellers to the brave young 
Kamschalkans was great ; and although the food they 
had brought was only dried fish, and some fat of the 
whale, it was the best they had, and a heartier and 
happier supper was seldom eaten. The storm con- 
tinued throughout that night ; but clearing off the 
next morning, the party were able to start on their 
return journey to the village. The deer, who know 
their masters, and will seldom desert the place where 
they are, were ready to return, and carried them back 
at a pace which, although not as fleet as that of a 
horse, was more unflagging and reliable. Welcome 
from all parties greeted their arrival, no harsh words 
met them ; the parents were only too glad to have 
their brave boys safe again, tiie owners of the deer 
too happy that their property was restored unhurt. 
Only the wise Lodovin shook his head. 

"If the boys begin like that," said he, "what do 
you suppose the men will do ? Take care how you 
praise those who respect no man's property!" For 
Lodovin owned one of the deer which the boys had 
borrowed. As for fat little Riga, he had gained so 



RIGA IN THE CHIMNEY. 

much glory (you must remember it was he who had 
discovered the smoke-pipe) by hanging in the chim- 
ney, that it became his favorite position, to the ever- 
lasting danger of the limbs of the tribe and his own 
head, and also to the great confusion of such unwary 
beings as weekly told secrets about the village fire. 




THE pope's guard. 



SEEING THE POPE. 

IT is only the young people of America who, in this 
age of the world, have not been to Europe ; there- 
fore to them and for them I have written down, in 
journal form, a few incidents of travel ; among them, 
a brief account of an evening spent with La Baronessa 
Von Stein, and a presentation to the Pope. 

Wednesday^ This evening we have spent, by invi- 
tation, with the Baroness Von Stein, widow of Baron 
Von Stein of German)-. The Baroness, a German by 
birth, passed much of her youth in Poland. Skilled as 
a horsewoman, she often joined her father in rural 
pastimes, shooting, hunting etc. Being perfectly well, 
and of great mind, she acquired, as do all the noble 
women of Europe, a thorough knowledge of the 
ancient classics in their originals ; also a familiarit} 
with nearly every spoken language of the Old anc" 
New World. Well comparing with Margaret, Queer 



Seeing the Pope. 

of Navarre in fluency of tongue, she readily changes 
from Italian to French, from French to Spanish 
quotes from Buckle, Draper, etc., in English, is quite 
at home on German philosophy, notwithstanding her 
devotion to the Catholic Church. A singularly at- 
tractive old lady is she now ; rather masculine in 
manner, exceedingly so, in mind ; a fine painter in 
oil to whom the Pope has sat, in person, for his por- 
trait. We have seen the likeness. It is pronounced 
perfect. She is very anxious for us to see his Holi- 
ness, and we certainly shall not leave Rome without 
so doing. The Baroness has an autograph note from 
Pio Nono, which is a rare possession. This she dis- 
played with far more pride than was apparent upon 
showing her own handiwork. When the Holy Father 
sat to her, in order to get the true expression, conver- 
sation was necessary and she repeated, with much 
satisfaction, snatches therefrom, which were of the 
brig-htest nature. However learned he may be, in the 
Baroness Von Stein he meets no inferior. 

As we entered her room, she was smoking: she 
begged pardon, but continued the performance. 

The cigar was a cigar, no cigarette, no white-coated 
article, but a long, large, brown Havana, such as 
gentlemen in our own country use. 

*'You will find no difficulty," said she, between hei 



Seeing the Pope, 

whiffs, *'in seeing 'II Papa,' and then you will say 
how good is his picture." 

During a part of our interview, there was present a 
Jster of a "Secretaris Generalissmoi to the Pope," 
who told us the manner in which the Popeship will 
be filled — she talked only in Italian, but I give a 
literal translation. " The new Pope is approved by 
4,he present Pio Nono. His name is written upon 
paper by the present Pope and sealed. The docu- 
ment is seen by no one, till after the death of *I1 
Papa,' when it is opened, as a will, by the proper 
power. CJnlike a will, it can not be disputed." 

Pio 'Tono certainly had his election in a far differ- 
ent way, according to the statements of the Roman 
Exiles of that day. 

As the life of his Majesty hangs upon eternity, the 
matter of a successor will soon be decided. "An- 
tonelli gone, where will it fall ! " said I, but at once 
perceived that I was trespassing and the subject was 
speedily changed. 

We left the Baronessa, intent upon one thing, viz., 
a presentation to the Pope, as soon as practical. Our 
Consul being no longer accredited to this power, but 
to Victor Emanuel, we must apply elsewhere. 

Thursday. Started early this morning, from my 
residence corner of Bacca di Leone and Bia di Lapa 



Seeing the Pope. 

( doubtful protectors ), for the American College and 
Father Chatard, in order to get a ' permit '' to the 
Monday Reception at the Vatican. On my way 
( and those who know Rome as well as we do will 
know how much on the way) I took, as I do upon all 
occasions, the Roman and Trajan forums, always 
walking when practicable ; by the above means, I am 
likely to become very familiar with these beautiful 
views. They are so fascinating that I can not begin 
any day's work without taking these first. The Tra- 
jan is my favorite. It may not be uninteresting to 
mention here that, on my circuitous stroll to the said 
College, I saw, and halted the better to see, one of 
those picturesque groups of Contadini and Contadine 
who frequent the towns of Italy. There were, first 
the parents, dressed in the fantastic garb of their class 
of peasantry, i. e., the mother with the long double 
pads, one scarlet and one white, hanging over her 
head and neck, while the father wore a gay slouched 
hat ; then three girls, severally garbed in short pink 
dress, blue apron embroidered with every conceivable 
color, simple and combined, yellow handkerchief 
thrown over the chest, long earrings, heavy braids, 
bare-footed or in fancifully knit shoes. 

Two boys in equally remarkable attire, and a baby 
that looked like a butterfly, completed the domestic 



Seeing the Pope. 



circle. They 
did not seem 
to mind my 
gaze. The 
father contin- 
ued Iiis smok- 
ing, the moth- 
er her knit- 
ting, the girls 
their hooking, 
the boys their 
listless loung- 
ing, and the 
baby its play 
in the dust. 
There was a 
charm in the 
scene. One 
sight however 
• (to be sure 
:^" mine was an 
extended op- 
portunity) is 

Roman Contadina. Sufficient. A 

few steps beyond this gathering, I found photo- 
graphs colored to represent these vagrants, and at one 




Seeing the Pope. 

store pictures of the very individuals — I purchased 
specimens to take to America, a novelty the other 
side of the Atlantic. 

After an hour or two, I reached the American 
College, was met by the students who very politely 
directed me to the Concierge, and my name was taken 
to the learned Father. The students all wore the 
long robe, though speaking English. 

Being a Quaker by birth, therefore educated to 
respect every man's religion, and to believe that 
every man respects mine, nevertheless I felt misgiv- 
ings incumbent upon the meeting of extremes. I was 
ushered into a large drawing-room and was examining 
the pictures, which generally tell the character of the 
owner, when Mr. Chatard entered. As he asked me 
to be seated, I thought, as some one has expressed it 
before me, " the whole world over, there are but two 
kinds of people, — 'man and woman.' " 

The youth of this college may thank their stars that 
America has given them one of her most learned and 
worthy sons, though the sect to which his mother 
once belonged must deplore his loss. 

In conversation with this Reverend gentleman, 1 
obtained the requirements necessary to an introduc- 
tion to the Pope, and was a little surprised that he 
should question my willingness to conform to the 



Seeing the Pope. 

same. It was however, explained. He had been 
much embarrassed by the demeanor of some of the 
American women. Seeking the privilege of meeting 
the Pope in his own palace, where common courtesy 
and etiquette naturally demand a deference to the 
Lord of the Manor, yet these ladies, having previously 
guaranteed a compliance with the laws of ceremony, 
after gaining admission refused to obey them. 

Seeing the Pope was not, to me, a religious service 
and is not generally so considered. 

My only fear was that my plain manners in their 
brusqueness, would have the appearance of "omission." 

But the requirements are simple. Bending the 
knee, as a physical performance, was a source of anx- 
iety. I at once called to mind the great difficulty 
which, as a young girl, I had in the play : 

" If I had as many wives 

As the stars in the skies," etc. 

Notwithstanding the person who had to kneel in the 
game had a large cushion to throw before her to re- 
ceive the fall, I always shook the house from the foun- 
dations when I went down. I can hear the pendants 
now, of a chandelier in a certain frame house in my 
native town ring out my weight, as I flung the cush- 
ion in front of a boy that knew " he was not the one," 
and took to my knees. True, the Vatican is not 



Seeing the Pope. 

shaky in its underpinnnings, and faithful practice 
upon the floor of my apartment in Bocca di Leone, I 
thought, would be productive of some good. Quickly 
running through this train of reflection, and finally 
trusting that the gathering would not be disturbed by 
any marked awkwardness, I returned home to await 
the tidings. 

Monday Evening. Have seen Pio Nono — have 
committed no enormity. 

According to directions, in black dress, black veil, 
a la Spanish lady, ungloved hands (what an appear- 
ance at a Presidential reception ! ) we were attired. 
Took a carriage for the Vatican. Before we left home 
the padrona viewed us, pronounced us all right, and 
earnestly sought the privilege of selecting a coach for 
us. She had an eye to style. Is it possible that she 
did not give us credit for the same " strength," and 
we traveling Americans ? It is to be confessed that 
the horses were less like donkeys than otherwise 
might have been. Trying the knee the last thing 
before leaving the house, there was certainly reason 
for encouragement, though still a lingering humility. 

Our ride was subdued, but we reached St. Peter's, 
passed through the elegant halls of the Pope's Pal- 
ace, surpassed only by those of the Pitti at Florence 
in their gold and fresco, and were ushered into the re- 
ception room of Pio Nono. 



Seeing the Fop* 

This apartment, long and r.airow, seemed more 
like n corridor than a hall. Its beauties are described 
in various guide books, so that " they who read can 
see." 

We were the only Protestants. The other ladies 
were laden with magnificent rosaries, pictures, toys, 
ribbons, etc., for the Holy Father's blessing. Even 1 
purchased one of the first, viz., a rosary, to undergo 
the same ceremony, as a gift to a much-loved servant 
girl at home. 

We sat here many minutes in quiet (inwardly long- 
ing to try the fall.) At length the Pope was led in. 
We forgot our trials. A countenance so benign, 
beaming with goodness, spread a cheer throughout 
tlie assembly. We took the floor naturally and invol- 
untarily. Except in dress, he might have been any 
old patriarch. The white robe, long and plain, gave 
hiiri rather the appearance of a matriarch. 

It chanced that his Holiness passed first up the 
right side of the hall. We sat vis h vis, so that we 
had the benefit of all that he said before we came in 
turn. While addressing the right, who continue on 
their knees, the left rise. As he turns to the latter 
they again kneel, whereas those opposite change from 
this posture to the standing. 

The Pope talked now in French, now in Italian, 
mostly in the former. As he approached our party. 



Seeing the Pope. 

we were introduced merely as Americans, but our 
religion was stamped upon our brows. Turning 
kindly to my young daughter, who wore, as an orna- 
ment, a chain and cross, he said, as if quite sure 
of the fact, " You can wear your cross outside, as an 
adornment j I am obliged to wear mine inside as a 
cross ; " whereupon, with a smile, he drew this emblem 
from his wide ribbon sash, showing her a most elegant 
massive cross of gold and diamonds, probably the 
most valuable one in the world. As he replaced this 
mark of his devotion, his countenance expressing a 
recognition of our Protestantism, perhaps a pity for 
our future, placing his hand upon our heads, he passed 
on. The blessing of a good old man, whatever his 
faith, can injure no one, and may not be without its 
efficacy, even though it rest uj)on a disciple of George 
Fox. 

I shall never cease to be glad that I have seen Pio 
No no. 



A LESSON IN ITALIAN. 

" I ^O you speak English ? " 
LJ ''Non, Signora/" 

" Do you speak any other language than Italian?'' 

''Non, Signoraf" 

" Then you are the person I desire as guide ! " 

The above dialogue took place near the Amphi- 
theatre of Verona. The Italian, standing awaiting 
employment, was an old man, bright and active. 
The American, who addressed him was an elderly 
woman, who had studied the languages of Europe 
nearly half a century. She had just arrived in 
Verona. Leaving the younger members of her party 
she had strolled off alone, the better, as she said, to 
air her lore. One must be alone to succeed v/ith a 
foreign tongue ; an audience of one's own country- 
men is particularly distracting if not embarrassing. 

Following her leader into the Amphitheatre she 



A Lesson in Italian. 

sat where, ages ago, the Royalty had done, and com- 
menced audible reflections to this effect: 

" Did scenes such as took place here have a charm 
for court ladies, ladies educated as were the Zeno- 
bias and the Julias of those days ? " 

She had no idea that her language could be under- 
stood, but the guide vociferated as if angry : 

" People of those days were great, strong, just ! " 

She felt that she was answered, but nevertheless 
was practicing her Italian. 

The Amphitheatre of Verona, being in a state of 
preservation, is a good introduction to the Coliseum 
at Rome. The old man, my guide, was present at 
the Congress of 1822, when twenty-two thousand per- 
sons were seated within its walls. The Chariot En- 
trance is pointed out, also that through which the cul- 
prits came ; and the gate which held back the hun- 
gry animal longing for his prize. These oft told tales 
were recited by the guide, as are the speeches of 
Daniel Webster by the American school-boy, learned 
and rehearsed many times, till the traveler, having ex- 
hausted her own vocabulary as applied to this show, 
seemed ready to depart. 

" Cathedrals," proposed the conductor as a matter 
of course. Cathedrals consequently obtained. 

In one of these of the time of Charlemagne, the guide 



A Lesson in Italian. 

seized with a religious zeal, begged his companion to be 
seated while he joined in the services. She could nol 
conscientiously interfere with his soul's instincts, 
therefore consented to rest awhile. 

The performances seemed exceedingly tedious, as 
the monotone of the priest was relieved only by the 
click of the collections. But the old man was very 
devout, never allowing the box to pass without his 
contribution. Magnanimous spirit ! How many of 
our home churches would give twice and thrice witli- 
out wincing? 

Growing rather anxious to leave these premises, the 
Protestant tried to hurry the brother-at-prayer by a 
motion towards the door. 

" Will Madame condescend a ten minutes longer ? 
A collection for a deceased infant is next." 

Madame did condescend. The coin was deposited. 
After this emotional act the twain left the church, the 
guide very- gay and lively, the lady rather moved to 
compassion. Suppose her companion were steeped 
in ignorance, how beautiful his faith ! 

" Was the little child a relative, or were its parents 
his friends i " 

" Oh, no ! he had never heard of it in life, but only 
a hard heart would keep one so young and alone in 
the shades." Here he wiped a tear. 



A Lesson in Italian. 

The guide turned, quickly melting into the 
smile again, remarking : " The Tombs of the Scaligers. 

These monuments are indeed worth seeing, espe- 
cially that of the last of this great family. This Scal- 
iger, to outdo his ancestry had spent many years la- 
boring with his own hands upon the marble which 
was to mark his resting-place. The devices were his 
own ; no other person was employed in the hewing, 
the cutting, even in the erection of this showy memo- 
rial. Its maker died satisfied with the result of his 
lifetime, a work for ages to succeed. 

The oldest of this name rests under a compara- 
tively simple canopy. During the First Napoleon's 
time this tomb was opened that a cast might be made 
of the head, there being no authentic representation 
extant ; and by order of the Emperor, the bvjst was 
placed in the Louvre at Paris, and sketches of this 
wonderfully fine head sold for great sums. 

"The house of the Capulets," said the old man. 

Standing beneath the balcony on the very spot 
where stood poor Romeo ( or Charlotte Cushman as 
well), quite absorbed in the few lines of Shakspeare 
that floated in her mind, the lady was aroused from 
her re very by the guide, who, pointing at the almost 
obliterated coat-of-arms, said ambitiously : 

" ChapeaUy capello, Inglese I" 



A Lesson in Italian. 

At the same time he crushed his head-gear, till 
his face was quite covered. 

" Hat I " shrieked she, judging that one who can 
not speak English must be deaf to this tongue though 
in proper condition to hear his native. If there is 
any letter that an Italian cannot pronounce, it is the 
" h." His attempts were many and fruitless. At 
length, violently coughing out the aspirate, he added 
with great gusto the " at " and was satisfied though 
exhausted. His next effort was " how ; " his next 
"head," and finally "woman." If there is any letter 
after " h " that the Italian can not get, it is our " w " 
and lo ! his choice of first steps in English, " hat, 
head, how and woman." 

Passing through the market-places which are gor- 
geous in the distance, but whose goods when in- 
spected are very common, they were met by many 
beggars. To those dressed in a peculiar garb the 
guide invariably gave, at no time to those in any other 
suit. He always reached the mite with a smile, good 
soul that he was ! 

Overlooking the lovely Adige they stood upon the 
great bridge, when it suddenly occurred to madame 
that the humble individual beside her might be giv- 
ing her more time than customary, even as he had 
freely given to God's '* poor in other respects.** 



A Lesson in Italian. 

Feeling satisfied with her day's work and knowing 
her way to the hotel, she commenced the process of 
bidding him adieu — in more common parlance, " get- 
ting clear of him." 

" I am indeed obliged to you," began she. " I have 
learned so much Ital — " 

Here she was interrupted by the sage Mentor. 

" If madame is so well pleased with my services, as 
she has taught me much English ( the hypocrite, ) I 
shall take but twelve lire." 

^^ Twelve lire / '^ she quietly repeated after him, 
while her astonishment was mingling with rage within, 
so as to render her voice almost inaudible. 

"Five lire should be your demand," she humbly 
ventured at last. 

" Madame is quite right, but she forgets her three 
worships in the Cathedral and the many who partook 
of her bounty in the market ! " 

''Three worships," thought she with a. perplexed 
air, " and bounties in the market ! " 

As if reading her mind, he explained by means of 
gestures that the contributions made in the church 
were charged to her, (probably with added interest 
by the time the account reached her;) also the coins 
given to the various mendicants in their walks. 

Alas ! A Quaker by parentage, educated to pay 



A Lesson in Italian. 

no clergy in her own Protestant land, had here been 
playing into the hands of the foreign devotee ! She 
nevertheless submitted with a grace, trusting that the 
next edition of Ollendorff will change its sentence of: 

" Has he the hammer of the good blacksmith or 
the waistcoat of the handsome joiner," etc., into 

" Has she the shrewdness of the saintly guide or 
the mask of the beggar in the market-place ? She 
has neither the shrewdness of the saintly guide, 
neither the mask of the beggar ; she has a meagre 
purse and a " thorough lesson in Italian" 



FEEDING GHOSTS IN CHINA. 

THE carpenter who has been making our new 
book-case says he wants to go to his home 
for a few days — some work is awaiting him there ; 
the Chinese writer says he wishes to go — there is a 
message to be sent in the direction of his village, he 
can carry it, and, being at leisure, can spend a few 
days with his family ; our house boy says he, also, 
must go — his "muddar" has been sick, is now 
"more better," and he must go and see her. 

And so the carpenter and the writer have gone, 
and the boy is going ; but it seems so strange, their 
all asking to go at the same time, that I suspect that 



Feeding Ghosts in China. 

at least part of them had some untold reason for it, 
and, when I remind myself that it is now the last of 
August, that it is the time of the full moon, and that 
last night our Chinese neighbors were going about 
out of doors carrying bowls of boiled rice, and that 
in front of the houses in the street near by were little 
fires with those thin, filmy ash-flakes that remain 
from burned paper scattered about them, I feel sure 
that I have guessed the reason, and that it is a wish 
to celebrate at their own homes the Festival of Burn- 
ing Clothes, and the Friendless Ghost's Feast. 

The Chinese think that persons after they are dead 
need the same things as when they are alive, and 
that if they are not supplied with them they can re- 
venge themselves upon people in this world, bringing 
tbem ill-health or bad luck in business. This being 
the case, of course people try to keep the ghosts of 
their relations in as comfortable and quiet a state as 
they can. 

If a father should die, his friends, while he re- 
mained unburied, would every day put a dish of rice 
and, perhaps, a basin of water, by his coffin, so that 
his ghost might eat and wash. Afterwards, they 
would at times carry food and drink to his grave, or 
place it before the wooden tablet, which, to honor 



Feeding Ghosts in China. 




A Tablet. 



him, would be set up in his house- 
To supply him with clothes and 
money, or anything else he might 
need, like a house, a boat or a chair, 
paper imitations of these things would 
be made and burned, after which it 
would be thought the ghost could 
make use of them. Fifteen days at 
this season of the year are considered 
the most lucky time for making these 
offerings. Large quantities of clothes 
and other paper articles are then sold, and there 
is a great burning of them all over the country. 

Besides these well-to-do family ghosts, there is an- 
other class of whom people are dreadfully afraid. 
These are the spirits of very wicked men, and of 
childless persons who have left nobody behind them 
in this world to care for them. They are supposed 
to be wandering about in a most forlorn condition 
and to be able to do a great deal of mischief. To put 
them in good humor, and to induce them to keep out 
of the way of the living, a Feast is made for them 
every summer. 

For several years past, this feast has been given in 
an open plot of ground just outside our yard and 
under our sitting-room windows, so that I have often 



Feeding Ghosts in China. 

seen it, though I am obUged to say I have never spied 
any ghosts coming to eat of it. 

Every year the ceremonies are the same. Early in 
the day four tall poles are planted in the ground 




The Ghosts' Table. 



about a dozen feet apart, and so placed as to mark a 
square \ about twenty feet from the ground a wooden 
floor is built between the poles. A few men who 
stand upon this platform direct everything. Usually, 
one or two of them seem to be priests ; once, I rec- 
ognized the leader as an expert juggler whose tricks 



Feeding Ghosts i?i China. 

I had witnessed only a short time before. A part of 
the Feast has been made ready beforehand and is at 
once arranged on the platform. At two corners are 
placed ornamented cones, six or eight feet high, 
which, I svippose, it is expected will appear to the 
ghosts to be solid cakes, but which are, in reality, only 
bamboo frames, thinly plastered over with a mixture 




A Ghost's Meal. 

of flour and sugar ; besides these are green oranges, 
other fresh fruits, and articles of different kinds. 
Soon, offerings of food begin to come in from the 
neighborhood, and are drawn up by ropes to the plat- 
form ; these are, mostly, baskets of boiled rice, and 
have a bit of wood holding a red paper stuck in the 
middle of the rice. I suppose the giver's name is 



Feeding Ghosts in China. 

upon the paper, and after the Feast the baskets seem 
to be restored to the persons who brought them ; the 
rice can then be taken away, and eaten at home. 

At length, the platform is well laden with food, 
which remains exposed in the sun and wind for sev- 
eral hours, during which time a great noise is kept up 
with gongs and other musical instruments, partly, I 
suppose, like a dinner bell to call the ghosts, and 
partly to amuse the men and boys who gather in an 
interested crowd around the platform. 

Late in the afternoon the head men begin to distri- 
bute the Feast. The baskets of food are carefully 
lowered ; the cakes are broken up, and the pieces, 
with the oranges and other fruits, are flung hither 
and thither among the crowd, who scramble merrily 
after them, sometimes half a dozen rushing after the 
same fraginent, and now and then a man trying to 
clamber up the poles to secure a portion before it 
falls. When the stage is cleared the crowd disperses, 
and the Ghosts' Feast is ended. 

In this region the people are very poor, but in a 
large and rich community this festivity would be kept 
with splendor even, and with much cost. 

Last year, a part of the wooden frame-work fell, 
and one man was injured. I think this may make 
the old ground seem unlucky to the Chinese, and lead 
them to seek a new place for this year's Feast. 



Feeding Ghosts in China. 

Let us hope that they will do so, for to have a set 
of the most wicked and unhappy ghosts asked to din- 
ner under one's windows, is not, after all, so amusing 
as it is noisy and sadly foolish. 



THE CHILDREN OF THE 
KOPPENBERG. 

FROM Hanover to Hameln is a good twenty- 
five mile walk, with a mountain at the end : 
to go over which, however, shortens the journey 
by several miles. 

In the case of Tom Osgood and Fred Taylor, 
who reached the foot of the mountain towards the 
close of what had been to them a long and weary 
day, the one — that is, Tom — concluded to go 
around the mountain, while Fred chose the shorter 
if rougher path over the top. Why the boys should 
have taken this long and tiresome tramp when a 
railroad runs the whole way in sight of the road 
which they travelled, or why they should not have 
walked to Hildesheim, or Mindem, or Nienburg, or 
any other of the equally unattractive places within 
the same distance from Hanover, I am sure I do 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

not know. If they had, though — and for that matter 
if one of them had not chosen to climb the Kop- 
penberg rather than go around it — this story would 
most likely have never been written. 

For my own part I am very glad they did it ; and 
Fred Taylor as long as he lives will never cease to 
be glad that he was the one to take the mountain 
path, though with the pleasure — as indeed is the 
case with nearly all our best pleasures — there 
will always come a little sudden thrill of pain. 

Why the mountain was called the Koppenberg does 
not concern this story at all. It is quite enough to 
know that it was a pretty tough mountain to climb 
and that before Fred was a quarter of the way up he 
began to be sorry he had not taken the longer route 
with Tom. It was too late now however to turn back ; 
and besides unless he made good time Tom would 
beat him in the race, which considering the greater 
distance Tom had to travel would be humiliating in 
the extreme. So putting a little extra steam in his 
legs, and whistling a tune his quick ear had picked 
up on the way, he trudged on, up the steep road, 
through the terraced vineyards, past an old ruin here 
and a herdsman's hut there, until finally the road 
lost itself in a path and went winding up into the 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

woods which covered the mountain for more than 
half the distance from its top. 

It was late in the afternoon ; but in Hanover on 
the 26th of June the sun does not set until nearly 
half-past eight, so that Fred had no fear of being 
overtaken by the dark. 

For some time Fred had not heard a sound but his 
own whistle. Indeed now that he was fairly in the 
solitude of the woods he did not expect to hear or 
meet any one, and he was accordingly startled when 
suddenly out of the deeper woods came a sound that 
seemed to be another whistle answering his own. 

Fred stopped and listened. 

Was it a whistle ? or were they the notes of a flute ? 

At any rate it could be nothing dangerous. 
Highwaymen and banditti do not usually whistle or 
play musical instruments, and Fred felt that it would 
be perfectly safe to push on. As he drew nearer, the 
tones became louder and with them were mixed what 
were unmistakably the voices of children. Fred, 
with increasing curiosity, hastened his steps ; and in 
another moment a sight that was as odd as it was 
pretty met his eyes. 

Yes, they were children — as many as a hundred 
of them, Fred thought — funny little old-fashioned 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

German children ; the girls with long flaxen braids 
and dresses that might have been their grandmothers', 
and the boys with garments so extraordinary that 
Fred, who thought he could never be astonished by 
what a German boy might have on, was fairly lost in 
surprise. 

But more odd than all the rest was the musician 
himself — a tall, thin, smooth-faced man, with blue 
eyes and scanty hair and an astonishing cloak, half of 
yellow and half of red, that reached from his shoulders 
to his heels. He was playing, on what seemed to be 
a flageolet, a brisk enlivening tune, and was lightly 
beating time with his feet. 

Fred looked on in amazement. " It must be a 
Sunday-school picnic," he said to himself at last, 
" only I never heard of such a thing in Germany, 
and what a queer-looking man for a superintendent." 

If it were a Sunday-school picnic it was a very 
remarkable one. There were no grown-up people at 
all but the one man, and the children seemed to be 
having no end of a good time. There were two little 
girls, it is true, standing quietly and soberly not far 
from Fred, but all of the others were either dancing 
or playing some lively game. 

Fred could not help wondering why the two were 



The Children of the Kopptnberg. 

left out ; and going up to them he asked in his politest 
manner and best German : "Why aren't you dancing 
and why do you look so sad when everybody else is 
so happy ? " 

The little things looked up curiously. They were 
pretty, Fred thought, but not so pretty as another 
and older girl who came out of the crowd just then 
and overheard Fred's question. 

" They've been sad all day," she answered in a 
pretty, motherly way ; " their little brothers were left 
behind and they can't enjoy it because their brothers 
aren't enjoying it too." 

" Mine was lame," said one of the little girls 
sadly. 

"And mine was dumb," said the other. 

" Oh come ! " said Fred, " you'd better go in and 
have a dance. It will be getting dark before long 
and you'll have to go home and then you can tell 
your little brothers all about it." 

The little children seemed puzzled and a grave 
look came on the elder girl's face. 

" It is never dark," she said. "It is always light 
here." 

It seemed indeed to be lighter than before. 
Where it had come from, Fred could not tell, but 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

all the forest was lit up with a strange warm glow. 
There were beautiful flowers too growing at his feet 
and birds singing in the. air that Fred had not noticed 
before. 

" Won't you come and dance ? " the girl went on, 

Fred was very fond of dancing, and it was hard to 
refrain, especially since the music was now fairly exhil- 
arating ; but he was very tired and had still before 
him a tedious climb. Under the circumstances he 
would rather rest himself by talking to this pretty 
sweet-voiced German girl — if she would only stay. 

" Well, to tell the truth," he said apologetically, 
" I've walked from Hanover to-day and I'm rather 
tired. But I'd like awfully to talk to you. Can't* 
you stay away from them for a few minutes ? You 
aren't a teacher, are you ? " 

" A teacher ? " inquiringly. 

" Yes. Isn't it a Sunday-school ? " 

" I don't think I understand." 

Fred thought his German must be at fault. 

"Well, I don't know," he said, ^'' '■ Sontags-schide' 
that's what they call it in New York. I've seen it on 
the German churches." 

" New York ? what is that ? " 

Fred gazed in greater astonishment. 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

" Now you don't mean to say you don't know where 
New York is ? " 

The girl shook her head in a dreamy, abstracted 
way. 

" 1 have heard of Hameln," she said, " and Hano- 
ver, and Jerusalem where the Holy Sepulchre is. It 
was there the Count Rudolph went to war against the 
Turks. But he ne\er came back. Do you know, 
eagerly, " whether the Christians have taken Jerusa- 
lem ? " 

" My gracious ! " exclaimed Fred below his breath, 
" it must be a lunatic asylum ! ' Then aloud : " Why 
there hasn't been a war in Jerusalem for five hundred 
years — not since the crusades." 

She passed her hand across her forehead in a be- 
wildered way. 

" I don't know, she said, " it seems as though I 
had forgotten. Perhaps it's because I don't talk. 
I'm the eldest, and all the others dance and play 
games, and the Piper ^ he plays all the time and so I 
don't have anybody to talk to at all." 

Fred was now quite confirmed in his new idea ; and 
yet the girl was so pretty and gentle that he could not 
bear to think of her being out of her mind. 

'' Why don't you go back," he asked kindly, " if 



The Children of the Kopperiberg. 

you're unhappy ? Was it Hameln you came from ? " 

She shook her head. 

" It was so long ago," she said, " I can't recollect." 

" Well, it couldn't have been much over fourteen 
years. I'm only fifteen myself. Perhaps I'd ought 
to have introduced myself. I'm Fred Taylor, of New 
York and I'm studying German at Hanover. , It's 
purer there, you know, than it is most anywhere 
else." 

Fred was uncertain how much she understood. Her 
own language, he had noticed, was very simple, and 
when he used an unaccustomed word her forehead 
would contract as though she could not follow him. 
Her next words, though, showed that she had under- 
stood his introduction. 

"lam Gretchen Haffelfinger," she said simply; 
" and ycu must not think I am not happy, because I 
am. The Piper is very kind to us." 

" And do you live up here all the time ? " 

Her forehead contracted again. 

" What is time ? " she asked. 

This was a problem that Fred wasn't prepared to 
solve and he discreetly changed the form of his 
question. 

" Do you live near here ? " 



llie Children of the Koppenberg. 

The girl's look turned toward a long glade in the 
forest, through which Fred fancied he could see a- 
lofty castle with battlemented walls and windows that 
gleamed in the strange, rich glow. 

" Is that the asylum ? '' he cried. 

" I don't think I understand," wistfully. 

What was there she did understand ? Fred's 
heart warmed compassionately toward the simple- 
minded child, while a sudden thought came into his 
head. Once back in her own place — if Hameln were 
her own place ^- might not the familiar scenes bring 
back her scattered wits ? Of the difficulties in the 
way he did not think. 

" Say, Gretchen ! " he whispered, eagerly, " wouldn't 
you like to go back with me to Hameln ? " 

A sudden light gleamed in the soft eyes and her 
breath came and went quickly as she moved a step 
nearer and looked beseechingly into his face. Fred 
will always insist that if they had started at that mo- 
ment she would have gotten off. He reached for- 
ward, and for one instant her warm little hand lay in 
his. But before he could fairly grasp it, the Piper 
had sounded one clear, sharp note ; the fingers that 
he so nearly held drew themselves away ; the blue 
eyes which had been fixed on his, turned with a trou- 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

bled look to the Piper ; the slight form moved back, 
at first a single step, then slowly retreated from Fred's 
side, while the children, attracted by the same call, 
came running from all directions and formed in a 
double column behind their curiously dressed leader. 
In another moment the whole procession was in mo- 
tion. Fred counted them mechanically as they filed 
by. Without Gretchen, who still delayed, or the 
Piper, there were just one hundred and twenty-nine. 

What a weird intoxicating march it was ! The 
children, for their part, laughed and sang; the Piper 
played as though he, too, were insane ; and even Fred 
could scarcely resist the impulse to join in. If he did 
not get away he felt that he should be carried off by 
the music in spite of himself. But he would make at 
least one more effort to save his little friend. 

" Gretchen ! " he cried, holding out his hands. 

She smiled, half sadly, and shook her head. 

" Gretchen ! " he cried once more, " come ! " 

There was no answer. The music had suddenly 
stopped, the Piper with the children had vanished ; 
and, while Fred looked, the little maiden with the soft 
eyes and tender wistful smile faded out of his sight. 
The glow had gone, too, with the birds and the flow- 
ers ; there was no longer any battlemented castle in 



The Children of the Koppcnberg. 

the distance : it was the shade of the forest, and Fred 
was all alone. 

Tom Osgood meanwhile had trudged his scarcely 
less weary way along the road around the foot of the 
mountain, and about seven o'clock had reached the 
city gate. Not that there was any gate — that had 
been gone for generations — but there was an old 
stone archway overgrown with ivy, in and out of 
which the birds fluttered and under which Tom had 
to walk to enter the city. Just before reaching it, he 
stopped for a moment and looked down into the river 
that llowed swiftly below the city walls. The sight 
struck a chord of recollection. 

"What was it I used to read about this place .-' " he 
asked himself. " Seems to me it was in a piece I 
spoke once at school." 

He waited a minute, but memory made no re- 
sponse. Then picking up his satchel he pushed on 
into the town. 

To his surprise, when he had reached the hotel 
where they had agreed to meet, Fred was not there 
nor had anything been heard of him. The Porticr 
assured Tom that the road was perfectly plain and 
nothing could have happened ; but this did not alto- 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

gether relieve him and it was with a good deal of 
anxiety, having ordered supper, that he sat down to 
wait. His suspense, however, did not last long. In 
fifteen minutes the door opened and Fred came in. 

That something had happened, Tom guessed at 
once. There was a strange look of excitement on 
Fred's face, and his step was more active, Tom 
thought, than a boy's ought to be who had just 
walked over the Kopjoenberg. 

" Feel my pulse, won't you, Tom ? " he cried ner- 
vously, throwing down his satchel, " and see if Fve 
got a fever. Did I seem out of my head when I left 
you ? Did I talk wild, Tom 1 Did you ever hear of 
insanity in my family ? Really and truly, Tom, I 
don't know whether I'm crazy or not." 

Tom was gazing at his friend in speechless aston- 
ishment. 

" What in the world's got into you 1 " he gasped. 

" It didn't get into me. I got into it ; and it was a 
lunatic asylum as near as I could make out. Only 
the keeper looked like a clown in a circus and the 
rest were all children. I tried to get one of them 
away, Tom" — Fred's voice broke a little — "bat 
just then the whole thing vanished, just like people 
do in a dream, you know. I don't know where she 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

went. I could see the spot where she stood, but she 
wasn't there — " 

" Are you sure you weren't dreaming ? " interrupted 
Tom. 

" Dreaming ! " indignantly. " Do I generally dream 
in daylight ? Would I stop to dream when I was in 
such a hurry to get here ahead of you ? and besides, 
Tom, I can whistle the march the man played. Just 
listen." 

Fred was a good whistler and never had to hear a 
tune more than once to remember it perfectly. Now 
his excitement lent strength and clearness to his notes 
so that any one might have taken them for those of 
the Piper himself. So loud and clear were they in- 
deed that the Portier^zs drawn by them from his desk, 
the Ober-kellner from the dining-room, the Director 
from the office, and most of the guests from the reading 
and smoking rooms. In fact, before Fred was through 
he had quite an audience, most of whom, he noticed, 
had a puzzled, inquiring look on their faces as 
though something about the whistle or the tune were 
out of the way. What the look meant he did not 
have to wait long to find out. 

" You whistle very well, sir," the Director remarked, 
almost before Fred was fairly through ; " but perhaps 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

you are not aware that that tune is forbidden in 
Hameln." 

Fred was surprised, and a Uttle frightened. 

"Why," he stammered, " I only learned it to-day.' 

" Not from any one in Hameln ? " 

" No, I don't suppose it was. He was on the other 
side of the mountain." 

The Director shook his head sagaciously. 

" It is not allowed in Hameln," he repeated;"! 
wouldn't whistle it again if I were you." 

" But why not ? " demanded Fred. " Why can't a 
man whistle what he likes .'' " 

" For the same reason," gravely, " that it is forbid- 
den to play music of any kind in the Bungcji- 
strasseT 

Fred stared. 

" What is the Bungenstrasse ? " he asked ; " and 
why may not one play in it ? " 

" Do not the young herren know the story ? " 

The young herren did not know the story, or if 
they did had forgotten it. 

" Is there a story ? " cried Tom. " Tell it to us, 
won't you, Herr Director ? " 

The Director bowed gravely. 

" Probably the young herren will recall it, for one 



The Childreti of the Koppenberg. 

of their English poets has written about it. It hap- 
pened nearly six hundred years ago that the town of 
Hameln was overrun with rats — " 

That was enough. Tom had found his clue. 

" Of course I've read it ! " he cried. " That was 
what I've been trying to remember all day : 

" ' Hamelin town's in Brunswick, 

By famous Hanover city; 
The River Weser, deep and wide, 
Washes its wall on the southern side ' — 

Don't you recollect, Fred ? They couldn't get rid of 
them, and one day an old fellow came into town and 
offered to pipe them out for a thousand dollars or 
whatever it was, and they took him up. But when he 
had done it, and the rats were all drowned in the 
river, they wouldn't stick to the bargain, and so he 
struck up his pipe again, and this time all the chil- 
dren followed him — why, what's the matter, Fred ? " 

"The young gentleman is ill," exclaimed the Por- 
tier, and would ha\'e rushed off for a doctor, had not 
Fred interfered. 

" No ! no ! " impatiently, " I'm not sick, Tom ; but 
don't you see ? Is it so ? " turning to the Director, 
" Is that the story ? " 



The Children of the Koppenherg. 

The Director nodded. He was flattered by their 
interest, and besides nothing that an American did 
ever surprised him. 

" Evidently the young gentleman has read it," he 
said. "All the children in town followed him as far as 
the mountain side, and then, when their fathers and 
mothers thought they could go no further, the mountain 
opened and they were all swallowed up — all, that is, 
but one little boy who was dumb, and another who 
was lame. This was the street they went down. On 
the Rattenfangerhauser opposite is a tablet commem- 
orating the event ; and ever since that time there has 
been no music played in the Bungenstrasse. Even 
if a bridal procession goes through the street the 
musi6inust not play. And the tune which you were 
whistling was the tune the Piper played. It was scored 
at the time by the Kapellmeister, and every one in 
Hameln knows it, just as one knows the Wacht am 
Rhein ; but no one may play it, or whistle it, or sing 
it on the streets. Of course, if the young gentleman 
had known it was forbidden he would not have whis- 
tled it." 

"Of course not," said Fred, abstractedly. "Where 
is the house with the inscription on it ? Gan we see 
it?" 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

" Certainly," said the Director. " It is not yet too 
dark. The house is yonder on the corner of the 
Osterstrassey 

By this time Tom was burning with curiosity, and 
longing for a chance to speak with Fred alone, 

"Come along," he cried, "let's go over to the old 
place and look at it." 

Fred was not unwilling, and tired and hungry 
though they were, both boys rushed out of the hall 
across the Platz. The hotel people interchanged smiles 
and shrugs, the Ober-kellner went back to tlie din- 
ing-room, the Portier to his desk, the Director to his 
office and the guests to their rooms. " Americans ! " 
one said to the other, quite as though that dismissed 
the subject. 

In the few minutes which it took to cross the 
square, Fred gave his friend all the particulars of the 
story which in his excitement he had not before 
supplied, and for lack of which Tom had not been 
able until now to obtain a clear idea of what had 
happened. "Then your idea is," he said soberly, 
when Fred had finished, " that those were the chil- 
dren who were lost?" 

Fred nodded gravely. " I suppose they must have 
been," he said. 



The Children of the Koppenbe^-g. 

"And that the man was the Pied Piper of 
Hamehi? " 

Fred nodded as before. By this time they were 
in front of the house and had discovered the inscrip- 
tion, which was written in queer old characters, once 

gilded, but now 

^ so weather 

.-.^tL -k \ ^ beaten as to be 



."I'l'' h 



t'^jf^' 



lt||l 



lis i^-^** scarcely legible. 
'' '■, f "What in the 

« world does it 



i^i^jg^ffjSSSWSRSS 








*.*rt*l*M)t»"****' 



THE rat-catcher's HOUSE. 




say? " asked Tom. 

Fred scanned it as closely as he could in the fad- 
ing light. 



The Chihbrn of the Koppenberg. 

"It's hard to tell," he said. Part of it is Latin 
and part German ; but it's badly spelled, and there is 
some of it that must be Dutch. As near as I can 
make out it reads like this : , 

" Anno 1284 am dage Johannis et Fauli war der 26 
Jiinii dorch einen Piper mit alhrlei farve bekledet 
gticiesen 130 Ki/ider Tcrledet hiniicn Hamcln gebon to 
Calvarie, bi den Koppen veHoren ./" 

"What gibberish!" Tom exclaimed. "Do you 
suppose you can translate it?" 

Fred looked uncertain ; but began word by word, 
as one construes a Latin lesson in school. 

'■'■Anno 1284, in the year 1284, am dage Johannis ei 
Paiili, on the day of St. John and St. Paul, war der 
26 Junii, which was the 26th of June — this very 
day, Tom — a piper with allerki farve bekledet — that 
must be parti-colored clothes — led 130 children 
born in Hameln by the Koppenberg to Calvary. 
That means to their death I suppose." 

Tom nodded, and for a minute the boys looked 
at one another without speaking. 

" Well, what are you going to do about it ? " asked 
Tom at length. 

With another look at the tablet Fred turned to- 
wards the hotel. 



The Children of the Koppenberg. 

" There's nothing to be done about it," he said. 
"I don't think I had better tell anybody here." 

Tom deliberated a minute. 

" No, I don't think you had," he said. " It happened 
five hundred and ninety-five years ago : there aren't 
any of their relatives alive, and nobody would believe 
you anyhow. Besides, they seemed to be having a 
good time, didn't they ? " 

Fred's thoughtful gaze was turned down the street 
toward the mountain, where so many years ago the 
little feet had pattered to their grave. 

But was it to their grave ? 

He wondered if instead of dying they had not lived 
all that time, and whether any one else had ever seen 
them besides himself. He was so absorbed indeed 
that he did not hear Tom's question until it was 
repeated. 

" Oh, did you speak ? " he asked. " Yes, I suppose 
they were. She said so." 

"Well, I'm glad of that. I always felt sorry for 
the poor little beggars and wondered if they got out 
of the other side of the hill. It's a great relief, Fre'd, 
to think of their having a good time. The Piper 
couldn't have been a bad sort of fellow. As it turned 
out, Fred, you might say as the little lame boy — it 



The C/iildren of the Koppenberg. 

must have been his sister, by the way, you spoke 
to — did in the poem : 

* The music stopped and I stood still, 

And found myself outside the hill, 

Left alone against my will. 

To go now limping as before, 

And never hear of that country more.' " 

Fred drew a long breath of relief as he brought 
his thoughts back from the mountain. 

"Well," he said, " I'm glad I know who they were, 
I couldn't bear to think of their being lunatics. 
And if Gretchen and the two little girls had been as 
happy as all the rest, I should have thought — " 

" What would you have thought?" 

Fred hesitated an instant. 

" That I was getting a little glimpse into heaven. 
But then, it couldn't be that, you know." 

Tom shook his head wisely. 

"Oh, no," he said; "of course it couldn't be 
that." 



A DAY AT THE BUTTS. 

TT was the fourth day of August, more than a hun- 
-*• dred years ago, and the whole road between 
London and the little village of Harrow was thronged 
with people. It was hot and dusty enough that sum- 
mer morning, but nobody seemed to mind in the 
eager scramble for the best seats ; and it was not 
long before the little green knoll, just at the west of 
the London road, seemed fairly alive with specta- 
tors. 

It was a lovely spot — this well-known Butts of 
Harrow — with its crown of tall forest trees waving 
like so many banners, and its tiers of grassy seats 
terracing the slope. From time immemorial it had 
been the scene of annual contests in archery, and 
there was not a boy in Harrow School who did not 
look forward all the year to this fourth day of Au- 
gust. 



A Day at the Butts. 

When John Lyon founded the school it was made 
a condition of entrance, that every pupil should be 
furnished with the proper implements of archery j 
and among the school ordinances drawn up in the 
year 1592 there was one to the effect that every 
child should, at all times, be allowed bow-shafts, 
bow-strings, and a bracer. 

No wonder the men of those days were tall, and 
straight, and strong ! 

But hark ! The church clock down in the village 
is striking the appointed hour. A little figure, clad 
in red satin from head to foot, darts out from the 
thicket of trees below, and now a procession of twelve 
boys, some in white, some in red, and some in green 
satin, take their places in the open ring that has been 
left for the competitors. All the little arcliers have 
sashes and caps of bright-colored silk, and, looking 
down from the green knoll, the whole scene is a 
kaleidoscope of color. 

A silver arrow — the victor's prize — glitters tempt- 
ingly in the sunlight ; and a tall lad, who stands 
among the waiting twelve, bends eagerly forward to 
examine it. 

"Just look at Percival 1 " whispers one little arch- 
er to his neighbor. " He's bound to get that arrow, 
isn't he ? " 



A Day at the Butts. 

" Pooh ! who cares for the arrow ? " responds the 
other, disdainfully. " It's nothing but a plaything, 
anyway! What I think about is winning the game, 
not the arrow ! " 

" Yes j but you see it's different with Percival ! " 
said the first speaker. " His three older brothers, three 
years in succession, won the arrows while they were 
here at the Harrow School, and the father says that 
• Percival must win the fourth for the one empty cor- 
ner in the drawing-room, or he shall be ashamed to 
(;all him his son ! " 

Just here the boys were interrupted in their talk, 
for the target was ready, and, at a signal, the 
contest began. At first, one shot after another 
fell quite outside the third circle that surrounded the 
bull's-eye, then came a shaft that glanced just to one 
side of the inner circle ; but at last, after many fruit- 
less attempts, the bull's-eye was fairly pierced, and 
the feat was greeted with a gay concert from the 
French horns. 

Now, it so happened — at least this is one of the 
traditions of Harrow — that the name of this last 
boy was " Love," and when his arrow toiiched the 
bulls-eye a number of his school-fellows shouted 
high above the horns : 

" Omnia vincit Amor P'' 



A Day at the Butts. 

" Not so ! " said another boy who stood close by. 
^^ Nos non cedamus Amori/" And, carefully adjust- 
ing his shaft, he shot it into the bull's-eye a whole 
inch nearer the centre than his rival. 

But each boy among the twelve competitors must 
have his own trial shot twelve times repeated, before 
the final award can be given. Meanwhile a careful 
tally is kept, and not until the one hundred and 
forty-fourth arrow springs from its bow is the victor's 
name announced : 

"Thomas Reginald Percival." 

That first victory seems to have given a magic im- 
pulse to his bow, for all twelve of his arrows have 
pierced the charmed inner circle of the target ; and 
now, at the head of an excited procession of boys, he 
is borne triumphantly from the Butts to the village. 
One little fellow in white satin runs far ahead, waving 
the silver arrow with many flourishes ; and, when the 
school-buildings of Harrow are reached, a grand re- 
ception is given to all the neighboring country-folk. 

Young Percival, with bright eyes and flushed 
cheeks, is the hero of the evening. There are 
games and dancing, and all sorts of merry-making 
until the " wee sma " hours, but the victorious boy 
can think of nothing save the coveted arrow he has 



A Day at the Butts. 

won. That empty corner no longer troubles his ex- 
cited brain. 

He has ably vindicated his right to the old 
family name, and henceforward, the father can point 
with pride to four trophies, won by his four sons at 
the famous Butts of Harrow. 

That was in 1766. In 1771 the annual shootings 
at Harrow were abolished ; for Dr. Heath, who was 
then head-master of the school, thought they inter- 
fered with the boys' studies. The silver arrow pre- 
pared for the following year, 1772, was never used, but 
is still preserved at Harrow as a relic of the past. In 
the school-library may be seen one of the archer's 
elaborate suits, which is nearly a hundred years old ; 
an^ the fourth of August, though no longer an ex- 
citing day at the Butts, is still kept as a holiday at 
Harrow School, and commemorated with appropriate 
speeches. 



TINY FEET OF CHINESE 
LADIES. 

JUST imagine tlie foot of a full grown lad)' but five 
inches in length ! Yet even this is large, and in 
highly aristocratic families four inches is the standard. 
This queer custom of compressing the feet of 
Chinese girls is of very ancient date, and in our day 
is almost universal — only nuns, slaves, boat-women, 
and others who are obliged to perform out-door drudg- 
ery, being exempt. As to the origin of the custom, 
the Chinese themselves are not agreed. Many suppose 
that it is a fashion intended to draw a line between the 
higher and lower classes. Others say that its object was 
to keep ladies within doors, where they would not be 
subjected, like common market or boat-women, to the 
gaze of the other sex ; and some boldly declare that 
to cripple them was known to be the only way by 



Tiny Feet of Chinese Ladies. 

which women could be kept at home, and rendered of 
use working for their husbands or fathers, instead of 
spending their time in gadding and gossip. Some of 
the most rehable native liistorians state that the cus- 
tom began during the reign of Take, somewhere 
about the year 1123, with a whim of the last Empress 
of the Shang dynasty. 

The time for putting on the first bandages varies in 
different families. In some, the process is commenced 
when the baby is only a few weeks old, others defer 
the ceremony for a year or two ; but all begin before 
the little one has reached the age of four years. 

No iron or wooden shoe is used, as some travelers 
have stated ; but a strip of cotton cloth, some three 
inches wide, and about six feet long, is wound around 
the toes, over the instep, and then behind the heel, 
after which it is brought back again over the foot and 
drawn so tightly around the toes as to press them into 
a point — all except the first and second having been 
previously doubled under the sole. 

These bandages are never removed, except for 
purposes of cleanliness, perhaps once a month ; and 
they are replaced as quickly as possible, each time 
being drawn tighter, until the instep bends into a bow 
and the ball of the foot is forced against the heel. 

The stockings are made of white cotton or silk. 



Tiny Feet of Chinese Ladies. 

The dainty little shoes are of silk, richly embroidered 
and often beautifully adorned with tiny pearls or 
rubies. The soles are of white satin, quilted, and 
stiffened with a lining of pasteboard. The heels are 
very high and pointed, and the white satin that entire- 
ly covers them, as well as the upturned toes, presents 
a pretty contrast to the blue or crimson silk uppers. 

White satin seems to us an odd material for shoe 
soles ; but they are intended only for carpeted floors. 

When one of these tiny satin-soled slippers is cast 
off as " worn out," it has probably never for a single 
time come in contact with terra firma ; and probably 
the wearer, when robed in the white slippers for her 
last sleep, has not from her infancy had one gleeful 
romp outdoors. 

This compression produces, during all the years ol 
childhood, the most excruciating pain, followed at 
length by a sort of numbness. I never saw one 
of these compressed feet entirely without covering, 
but I saw enough when the outer bandages had been 
removed to excite both pity and disgust ; and a lady 
who had seen the bare foot of one of their greatest 
belles told me that she had never even conceived of 
a spectacle so shockingly revolting as this tiny foot 
when divested of all that could hide its deformity. 
Although the young lady was full grown, the sole of 



Tiny Feet of Chinese Ladies. 

her foot was but three and three-quarters inches in 
length. The great toe formed a point that was bent 
upwards and backwards, while the heel, of natural 
size, seemed by contrast disproportionately large. 

Chinese ladies of rank are seldom seen abroad un- 
less in closely curtained Sedan-chairs ; but we used 
occasionally to meet those of the m.iddle class mak- 
ing short excursions in the immediate vicinity of their 
homes. Their attempts at walking were pitiable in 
the extreme, as they hobbled along, leaning on an um- 
brella, or the shoulder of a servant, for support, or 
with hands outstretched against the houses as they 
passed, endeavoring to keep their balance. 



SHETLAND PONIES. 

FAR north from Scotland, and but seldom visited 
by southern travelers are the Shetland Islands. 
From these rock-bound, treeless islands come the 
Shetland ponies that we so often see at the circus, 
or pulling little phaetons patiently along. A Shet- 
land pony is almost a child's first desire, unless, per- 
haps, it may be to own a monkey. To have a pony 
to ride, or to drive, and especially a real Shetland, 
long-b aired, short-legged pony is a dream of perfect 
happiness, indeed. 

But have the readers of this little sketch ever 
thought about the home of these ponies ? If you 



Shetland Ponies. 

never have, then take a map of the British Isles, and 
in the far North you will see the small group of 
islands called the Shetlands, and from there the first 
ponies came ; and to-day they are raised there in 
great numbers. 




Shetland is a very different country than many 
see. There are no green fields and trees, and the 
children living there hardly believe it when you tell 
them that in England or Scotland there are green 
lanes, and that birds build nests among green leaves. 
All the birds they see, hover about the great, rocky 



Shetland Ponies. 

cliffs, and build nests in the crevices of rocks, per-- 
haps a thousand feet above the sea. All their fields 
are covered with black peat or brown heather; and 
instead of houses of wood to live in, they only have 
huts made of stone with a roof of straw, mud and 
refuse wood. In some of the houses there are no 
windows, only one room, and a low door. Then there 
is no chimney to let the smoke out, but only a small 
hole in the roof. Of course these huts are for the 
very poor people living out among the hills of Shet- 
land, and away from the coast. But near the sea, on 
the shores of some secluded bay, are quite good 
towns, such as Lerwick and ScoUoway. These towns 
have little stone houses with very pointed roofs and 
deep-set windows, that almost seem to rest in the 
water itself, they are built so near it. Then the 
streets are very narrow, and have been paved with 
great stones. You can almost touch either side of 
the street it is so narrow. 

Now the people of the Shetland Islands are very 
quiet, orderly and industrious. They live by many 
means. Some of them have shops in the towns, 
where they sell groceries, and dress-goods and cured 
meats. Others live by catching fish to send south. 
Some let themselves down by ropes over the edge of 
a great high cliff, and gather the eggs of birds. Then 



Shetland Ponies. 

the women knit shawls and hoods and veils and 
socks, and so gain a few pennies to buy food 
with. But there is j-et another class of people 
who have to make a living, and this class raise ponies 
and sheep, to send to England and even to Americn. 
And before we speak or describe carefully the makin;:; 
of shawls and gathering of eggs, we will imagine our- 
selves in the town of Lerwick and all ready for a 
start to Noss Island, where a man lives who has a large 
herd of real Shetland ponies. 

I remember the morning perfectly. The bay 
was all dotted with the white sails of the fishing, 
boats. The town was all awake carrying dried fish 
to the boats at anchor, and on the corners of the 
streets were gathered women and young girls selling 
potatoes they had just brought in from the distant 
field. We took a row boat, and rowed across Bressay 
Sound to Bressay Island, and then walking across it, 
and after looking back at the town and out at sea, we 
came to a small strait, and had to hire another boat 
to take us across the water to Noss Island. This 
island is not very large, but has more green grass than 
any other of the Shetland group. One end of it al- 
most buries itself in the sea, and then it gradually 
rises higher and higher, until the opposite end ri.«;es a 
thousand feet right up from the sea. There is only 





SHKTLAND PONliSS. 



Shetland Ponies. 

one house on the island, and in that lives the keeper 
of the ponies and his two children. I wish you could 
have seen these children when they saw us coming 
in the boat. They hardly ever leave the island 
themselves, and so when any strangers come to see 
their ponies, how happy it makes them ! They were 
very pretty and bright children, too. They had light 
hair and bright blue eyes, and cheeks as red as roses. 
Running down with them, was their pet dog, who 
seemed just as glad as any of the rest to see strangers. 
The house the man lived in was very lonely-looking 
to us. It was built of stone, and then painted white, 
and stood on a little knoll overlooking the blue 
waters of the cold North Sea. 

After a short rest we walked out to explore the 
island ar i see the ponies. Here was their home 
and we should see them here in their real life. As 
we walked along, we came to a part of the island 
where it was rather sandy, and there found such a 
nest of rabbits. We almost stumbled into their 
holes, there were so many of them when we came 
upon them. There must have been fully a hundred 
nibbling the short grass, or standing up to see who 
was coming to disturb them. The keeper said they 
were a great nuisance to the island, they undermined 
it so. 



Shetland Ponies. 

But a sight that interested us more than that of the 
rabbits was the great herd of ponies we saw before 
us. 

There must have been fully two hundred of the 
shaggy-maned little fellows. Some were eating, some 
biting one another, some running as though having a 
race, and others stood still looking at us. When we 
came nearer the whole herd pricked up their ears, 
gave little snorts of anger, and galloped away as fast 
as their short legs could carry them. 

The keeper told us that when one wishes a pony, 
to ride or sell, he must take the one he keeps near 
his house, mount him, and then riding out to the 
herd, lassoo one at a time until you obtain all 
you wish. In winter the ponies of Noss Island have 
rather a hard time of it. Though there is not much 
snow on the island, still the winds often blow very 
fiercely, and poor pony has no warm barn to go to. 
Sometimes the keeper builds a wall about a square 
piece of ground, and pony can go into the enclosure 
and so be somewhat sheltered. But usually he must 
face the wind and storm, no matter what the weather. 

Among the ponies we saw on our visit, were some 
little wee fellows, hardly larger than Newfoundland 
dogs. When we saw them scampering about so free 
from care, we couldn't help wondering how long it 



Shetland Ponies. 

would be before they would be cairying some little 
lady up and down Rotten Row, or about New York 
Central Park. The case is not unlikely, for a great 
many of them each year are sent away from their 
island home to England. 

But a pony in the Shetland Islands, even, has often 
hard work to perform. If a poor person is possessed 
of a pony, then, indeed, he feels rich. Now on 
certain days in the week, there are market days at 
Lerwick. From all about come the people bringing 
things to sell. Some walk to the town, some sail, and 
others come riding on their ponies. Just inside of 
Lerwick is a naiTow path leading over the hills. I 
have often seen, coming alpng this narrow way, a long 
line of ponies and women. And such a curious ap- 
pearance they present 1 The ponies seem only legs. 
They have no bridle, only a cord about the neck, and 
each follows the one in front. You can't make them 
go at the side of one another. On either side of each 
one are two immense saddle-bags filled with peat, or 
potatoes ; on his back are piled other goods, and 
even his neck has a cloth or other saddle-bags 
strapped, so that seen from a short distance it seems 
just as though the bags had legs, and poor pony 
seems buried out of sight. Sometimes, too, if there 
is room to keep seated, his mistress, with shoeless 



Shetland Ponies. 

feet, and short dress and white cap, seats herself in 
great state, and away goes pony, bags and woman, off 
to Lerwick. Sometimes, when on these pilgrimages, 
pony will watch his chance, and if his mistress should 
be absent, will dart away down the steep hill-side, to 
nibble a bite of something good he has seen ; and 
then when the mistess sees him such a pounding as 
pony gets as she leads him back to his proper place ! 
But he only looks meek and will no doubt do the 
same thing again when he gets the chance. 

Shetland ponies are very sure-footed. They will 
walk along the very edge of a high cliff, and before 
putting a foot down will carefully feel if the ground 
is firm or not. Some of them are driven by their 
riders down steep passes where one misstep would 
send both rider and pony down to the depths below. 
Ponies of Shetland, too, are not always very well be- 
haved. Near our cottage was an old lady's gar- 
den, filled with cabbages. One day her pony walked 
into it, and enjoyed himself feasting on li.^, forbidden 
fruit. We never asked him, but should imagine the 
beating he received when discovered would help him 
to digest his stolen dinner. Then a Shetland pony on 
his native heath is extremely wilful. If they dislike 
a rider they will spare no pains to unseat him. I rode 
one once who expendec' a great deal of unnecessary 



Shetland Ponies. 

strength in this manner. He would sit down sud- 
denly and rise up more so. He would bite, shake 
himself and roll over, if allowed. As he was almost 
small enough to be carried by his rider, these antics 
were more amusing than dangerous. 

And so the ponies of the Shetland Islands live and 
wait for masters in the South. In the cold winter of 
fog and rain, when there is almost no day, or in the 
summer time, when the sun does not set, tliey run 
wild about the Noss, take burdens to Lerwick, or 
carry the stranger ovt r the bogs and dreary hills. 



MR. SWEET POTATOES. 

OUR milkman has a very odd name, — translated 
into English it is " Sweet Potatoes.'' His Chi- 
nese neighbors call him " Old Father Sweet Pota- 
toes." 

Some persons think him a good man ; others say 
that he is a very bad one. Just how that is I do not 
know — his business brings him great temptation. 

He is accused of putting water into the milk. He 
himself says, that he only does it when he has not 
enough milk to supply all his customers ; then he 
does not know what else he can do. When we en- 
gaged him to bring milk to us we took him into our 
yard and showed him that we had a well of our own. 

The Chinese in their own country do not make any 
use of milk or butter. They have a perfect horror of 
cheese, and in this part of China, peiiiaps, not uiore 



Mr. Sweet Potatoes. 

than one man in a hundred will taste of beef. Only 
a few cows and bullocks are kept, and these are 
needed to plough the fields and turn the rude ma- 
chinery of Ihe sugar mills. 

I suppose " Father Sweet Potatoes " had never 
thought of such a thing as owning a cow, until for- 
eign ships began to come to his part of the country. 
Of course the ships brought foreign men and women, 
and these all wanted beef to eat — sometimes the 
Chinese, wishing to speak contemptuously of them, 
would call them " beef-eating foreigners," — and they 
also wanted milk for their cooking and for their chil- 
dren. 

So Mr. Sweet Potatoes bought some cows, hoping 
to make some money in the milk business. They all 
had long ropes laced about their horns or threaded 
through their noses, and he got some little children 
to hold the ropes and guide the cows in search of 
food ; for there are no grass fields in this part of the 
country, and all the pastures the cows have are the 
little green places on the rocky hills and the grassy 
patches along the brooks ; and the children sit by 
and watch them while they graze, for there are no 
fences, and, left to themselves, the cows might stray 
inio the rice fields or wander away into places where 
thf^y would be stolen. 



Mr. Sweet Potatoes. 

Strange to say, we have our best milk when the 
winter has ahnost killed the grass, or when the 
weather is too stormy for the cows to go out ; for 
then they are fed with the tops of pea-nut plants. 




THE NATIVE HUMPBACK COW. 



either green, or dried like hay, and up for sale in 
great bundles. This is delicious food for the cows, 
and when they have it then we have good milk in- 
deed, with a thick, white cream upon it. 

Sometimes they have cut grass to eat, which has 



Mr. Sweet Potatoes. 

been brought from steep places on the hills to which 
the cows cannot go. Very poor boys go out Avith 
baskets and knives to gather this i^rass, and are paid 
only three or four cents for the work of a day. 

Mr. Sweet Potatoes has two kinds of cows. Some 
of them are the native humpback cows, of very small 
size, very gentle ; sometimes red and sometimes 
brown, with hair that is smooth and glossy quite 
down to the tiny little hoofs, which look far smaller 
and cleaner than do the feet of cows in colder cli- 
mates where they walk out in snow and stand in 
frosty barns. 

These cows have very small horns, sometimes 
three or four inches long, but often mere little white 
buds coming out from their dark foreheads. Back of 
their shoulders they have a small hump, three or four 
inches high. And, almost always, Sweet Potatoes' 
cows have with them a pretty, little, sprightly calf ; 
for the Chinese believe, or pretend to believe, that if 
the calf were taken away the cow would die, and that 
it is necessary before milking her to first let the calf 
have a few mouthfuls of milk, — poor little calf ! 

The other cows are very different from these ; they 
are water buffaloes, — buffaloes not at all like the 
shaggy bison, but great, awkward creatures, that in 
summer like to wade into pools, and, safe from flies 



Mr. Sweet Potatoes, 

and mosquitos, to stand with only their horns and 
upturned faces in sight above the top of the water; 
or, when there are no pools, to wander into bogs and 
half bury themselves in ihe mud. They are as large 
as a big ox, with very round bodies mounted on very 
slim legs that have very large knee and ankle joints. 
They are of the color of a mouse, or a gray pig, and 
coarse hairs grow thinly over their skin, while, in 
contrast to the humpback-cows, they have two im- 
mense, crescent-shaped horns setting up from their 
heads, and measuring often a yard from side to side. 

Old Father Sweet Potatoes sells ten pint-bottles 
full for a silver dollar, — that is ten cents a pint, — 
and in summer he brings us a half-pint in the morn- 
ing and another half-pint in the afternoon ; for the 
weather is so hot that the milk of the morning will 
not remain sweet until evening, although the moment 
it is brought to the house it is boiled and then put in 
the coolest place we have, which is not a cellar, for 
cellars cannot be kept sweet and airy in countries 
where there is so much moisture and many insects. 

When, in our walks, we meet these cows they often 
exhibit fear, especially of foreign ladies and horses, 
sights with which they are not familiar. The little 
humpback cows prance skittishly out ot the paths ; 
but the great buffaloes stand quite sail aua smic at 



Mr. Sivect Potatoes. 

us, then throw up their noses and sniff the ah' in an 
offended manner that in turn makes us afraid of them. 
At night they are all brought home from their wan- 
derings, and the ropes by which they are led are tied 




THE WATER-BUFFALO. 



to stakes driven into the ground ; in winter under a 
shed, but in summer in the open air. It makes one's 
neck ache to see them ; for the rope is frequently tied 
so short that they cannot hold their heads erect nor 
move thein very freely, but they do not appear to suffer. 



Mr. Sweet Potatoes. 

Next to his business the milkman values his daugh- 
ter, who, when I first saw her, was a plump, rosy- 
cheeked child and tended her father's cows. If you 
ever saw a doll with a plaster head that had been 
broken and then had been mended b}/ having a strip 
of black silk glued ovei the crack, you will know 
how Mr. Sweet Potatoes' daughter looked. 

She wore a piece of black crape bound tightly 
about her head so that no one could see her hair. 
Some persons said that, owing to illness, she had no 
hair. If so it must have grown afterwards ; for, 
when she was older and had left tending the cows, 
she had it put up on her head with pins, in a strange 
fathion that showed she was going to be married. 

SwcRt Potatoes had no son and he wished his son. 
in-law to come and live with him as if he belonged 
to him. Among the Chinese this is not considered 
so honorable or so genteel, as to have the daughter 
leave her home and go and live with her husband's 
family. It seemed strange that the son-in-law should 
consent ; for though he was very poor he was also 
very proud, and was very particular to have respect 
shown to him and in regard to the kinds of work that 
he was willing to do. I should never have guessed 
his foolish reason for being so proud, but some one 
told me that it was because his father, now dead, had 
once held a small office in the Custom House ! 



SHETLAND WOMEN. 

NOT far outside the town of Lerwick, on the 
Shetland Islands there is a great, black, 
muddy tract of land called a peat-bog. All about is 
utter desolation. There are no huts even to be seen. 
The town is concealed by a rounded hill ; and when, 
through some opening between the bare upheavals, 
one catches a sight of the North Sea, it, too, seems 
deseited by mankind. 

The peat, or mixture of roots and peculiar black 
soil, is dug here in large quantities ; and all about the 
place are great piles of it, dried and ready to be 
burned in the fire-places of the Lerwick people. 
Peat takes the place of wood ; and in every poor 
man's hut in Shetland will it be found burning 
brightly, and giving out a thin blue smoke. 



Shetland Women. 

To prepare peat for market, a great deal of laboi 
is performed. First come the diggers — men, women 
and children. Entering upon the deep, miry bogs 
they cut the soil up into cakes about a foot long 
and a few inches thick ; and these they place in high 
piles to dry. After a few weeks they come again, 
and carry the cured fuel away to the town. 

It is while carrying these loads that the Shet- 
landers present a peculiar spectacle. The men are 
often very old, infirm and poorly clothed ; and the 
women are dressed in short-skirted, home-spun 
gowns, below which may be seen very red and very 
broad feet. On their heads they usually have 
white caps, nicely ironed, with a fluted ruffle around 
the edge. Passing across the breast and over either 
shoulder are two strong straps, and these support 
an immense basket hanging against the back. 

Thus equipped, the brave, stout women, their bas- 
kets piled with peat, tramp off to Lerwick, two miles 
away, to sell their loads for a few pennies each. 
They make many trips a day, always smiling, chat- 
ting and apparently contented. Often a long line 
may be seen carefully stepping along over the rough 
roads, stopping now and then to rest. 

The homes of these poor peat women are, many 
of them, simply hovels. When they wish to build a 



Shetland Women. 

ho;ne. they go out into some fields, usually far away 
from other huts, and there tiiey dig a trench about a 




SHETLAND WOMEN. 



square piece of ground. Upon this they build walls 
to a height of about eight feet, and fill the crevices 
with mud and bog. For a roof they gather refuse 



Shetland Women. 

sea-wood, and, with this for a support, lay on layer 
after layer of straw, mud and stones. 

But what homes they seem to us ! There is no 
fire-place, only a hole in the ground, with a hole in 
the roof for the smoke to escape through ! No win- 
dows, the door serving for both light and entrance ! 
No beds, only heaps of straw ! Sometimes in one 
small room, often the only one the house contains, 
will be seen man, wife, children, dog and hens, equzil 
occupants, sharing the same rude comforts. Outside 
the house, if the owner be moderately well off, maj' 
be seen a herd of sheep or ponies, and a patch of 
garden surrounded by a wall. 

But there is something a peat woman of Shetland is 
continually doing that we have not yet noticed. All 
hav^e no doubt heard of Shetland hosiery ; of the fine, 
warm shawls and hoods, and delicate veils that come 
from these far northern islands. Now, all the while the 
poor, bare-legged woman is carrying her heavy bur- 
den of peat, her hands are never idle. She is knit- 
ting, knitting away as fast as her nimble fingers will 
allow. In her pocket is the ball of yarn, and as her 
needles fly back and forth, she weaves fabrics of such 
fineness that the Royal ladies of England wear them; 
and no traveller visits the island without loading his 



Shetland Womai. 

trunk with shawls, mittens, stockings, and other feni 
inine fancies. 

Not to know how to knit in Slietland is like not 
knowing how to read at home. A little girl is taught 
the art before she can read ; and, as a result, at every 
cottage will be found the spinning-wheel and the nee- 
dles, while the feminine hands are never idle. It is 
one great means of support ; and on Regent Street 
in London will be seen windows full of soft, white 
goods marked " Shetland Hosiery." 

Who first instructed these far northern people in this 
delicate art is not surely known. On Fair Isle, one of 
the Shetland group, the art is first said to have been 
discovered, very many years ago. On that lonely isle 
even now, every woman, girl and child knits while 
working at any of her various duties. 

The y^rn with which the Shetland goods are made 
is spun from the wool of the sheep we see roaming 
about the fields. In almost every cottage may be 
seen the veritable old-fashioned wheel ; and the busy 
girl at the treadle sends the great wheel flying, and 
spins out the long skeins, which serve to make baby 
pretty hood or grandma a warm shawl. 



MARDI GRAS IN NICE. 

HAVE you ever happened in Nice at Carni- 
val? 

On a bright June morning, which my calendar 
called February twelfth, Rull and I tripped lightly 
down through the old olive orchards to the station, 
and billeted ourselves for Nice, 

Long before we reached Nice Rull's hands tin- 
gled; for there lay a beautiful line of snow, miles 
away, on the north side of the Alps, and the poor 
fellow hadn't been as near a snow-ball as that for the 
winter. But I had only to say ^^ confetti!" and his 
eyes danced at the vision of the parti-colored hail- 
storm to come. 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

Now hasten with us at once to the Promenade du' 
Cotii's, up and down which the procession is to 
pass. 

First, however, I shall buy for you each a little 
blue gauze mask ; for you cannot even peep at Car- 
nival unmasked. And if any of you can wear linen 
dusters with hoods attached, all the better. Don't 



r'r^ 



J\ 







"promenade du cours," in carnival time. 



leave a square inch of skin unprotected, I warn you. 

Besides the little masks, you may buy, each of you, a 
whole bushel of these "sugar-plums," and have them 
sent to our balcony. Also for each a little tin scoop 
fastened on a flexible handle, which you are to fill 
witn conjetti but on no account to pull — at least, not 
yet. 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

The crowds are gathering. Pretty peasant girls in 
their holiday attire of bright petticoats, laced 
bodices, and white frilled caps ; stray dominoes ; 
richly dressed ladies with mask in hand ; carriages 
so decorated with flowers as to be artistically hidden 
— even the wheels covered with batiste — blue, pink, 
purple, green or buff. Even the sidewalk, as we 



-■ >" ^^ '■'^ ^r <i''\_ . 1 I ' !]' yi i III ill 11' 





" PROMENADE DU COURS " IN CARNIVAL TIME. 



pass, is fringed with chairs at a franc each. 

The " Cours " is gay with suspended banners, bright 
with festooned balconies and merry faces. Side- 
walks and street are filled with people ; but the 
horses have the right of way, and the people are 
fined if they are run over. 

I>et us hasten to our balcony, for here passes a 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

band of musicians, in scarlet and gold, to open the 
procession. 

Just in time we take our seats, and lo ! before us 
rolls a huge car. 

It is "the theatre" — an open car ol puppets — 
but the puppets are ;«67/ ; all attached to cords held 
ni the hand of the giant, who sits in imposnig state 

i^i^ . , 



■' :i II! S .i . ^ 







" PROMENADE DU COURS," IN CARNIVAL TIME. 



above them on the top of the car which is on a 
level with the third story balconies. 

The giant lifts his hand and the puppets whirl and 
jump. But alas ! his head is too high. His hat is 
swept off by the hanging festoons, and the giant must 
ride bare-headed, in danger of sunstroke. 

Next behind the car moves in military order a 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

regiment of mounted grasshoppers. Their sleek, shin- 
ing bodies of green satin, their gauzy wings and 
antennae, snub noses and big eyes, are all absolutely 
perfect to the eye ; but — they are of the size of men. 
You lower your mask to see more clearly, you are 
lost in wonder at the perfect illusion, your mouth is 
wide open with "Ohs ! " and " Ahs ! " when pop ! 



ijlf. I- K Iq t l'i-,>+,.,, M;^,,."y)vj 1 i,;t3 1 







PROMENADE DU COURS IN CARNIVAL TIME. 



pop I slings a shower of confetti, and the little hail- 
stones seem to cut off your ears and rush sifting 
down your neck. 

For, while you were watching the grasshoppers, a 
low open carriage, concealed under a pink and white 
cover, has stopped under our windows. Four merry 
masqueraders, cloaked and hooded in hue to match, 



Mardi Gras Jti Nice. 

have a bushel of confetti between them, and are piled 
with nosegays. We slink behind our masks, we pull 
the handles of our confetti scoops — then the battle 
begins and waxes fierce. 

But they are crowded on ; for behind them, in irre- 
sistible stateliness, moves on the Sun and Moon. 
Then come the Seasons : Winter represented by a 




" PROMENADK DU COURS," IN CARNIVAL TIME. 

band of Russians, fur-covered from top to toe, drag- 
ging a Siberian sledge. Summer is recognized by a 
car-load of choicest flowers, whose fragrance reaches 
us as ihey pass. 

Here rolls a huge wine cask which fills half the 
wide street ; there moves a pine cone, six feet high, 
to the eye perfectly like the cones, six inches in length, 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

which we use daily to light our olive-wood fire. 

Then a procession of giant tulips — stalk, calyx, 
petals, all complete. They also silently move on. 

Next a huge pot, with a cat climbing its side, her 
paw just thrust beneath the lid. Ha! it suddenly 
flies off. Does the cat enter.? We cannot see 
through the crowd. A colossal slump follows, trail- 




PROMENADE DU COURS, IN CARNIVAL TIME. 



ing with mosses and vines. Upon it a bird's nest 
filled with young, their mouths wide open for food ; 
wonderful, because the artistic skill is so perfect that, 
although so immense, they seem living and not 
unnatural. 

Then a car of Arctic bears champing to and fro 
in the heat, poor things, as well they may ; for this is 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

,1 cloudless sky and an Italian sun. Look carefully 
at them and tell me, are they not true bears ? 

But ah ! sling! sling! two handfuls of confetti sting 
your eyes back into place again, and dash the bears 
(Hit of sight. Isn't it delightfully unbearable .? You 
s'lout at the folly of having forgotten confetti, and 
then resolve to watch your chance at the next poor 




" PROMENADE DU COURS " IN CARNIVAL TIME. 



foot-pad. 

Here passes a man with two faces. His arms are. 
neatly folded before, also behind. You cannot tell 
which is the real front, until, suddenly, ahorse trots up 
and nearly touches noses, while the man moves on 
undisturbed. You meant to give that man a tlash, 
but you forgot, he was so queer. 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

Ah ! here comes a carriage of pretty girls. Down 
pours the shot from the balcony above. It rains on 
you like hail. It runs in rills down your back. You 
hold your recovered ears, and add your tone to the 
rippling, rippling laughter that flows on in silvery 
tide. 

Not one boisterous shout, not one impatient excla- 




" PROMENADE DU COURS " IN CARNIVAL TIME. 



mation the whole livelong day ; only everywhere the 
sound of childish glee. How good to see even old 
careworn faces lighted up with mirth ! 

Here goes an ostrich with a monkey on his back 
then a man with a whole suit of clothes neatly fitted 
out of Journals. 

But — look ! look ! there towers a huge car. JNay, 



Mardi Gras Tn Nice. 

it is a basket — a vegetable basket ! but its sides are 
as high as our balcony. On its corners stand white 
carrots with their green waving tops upward. 
Around the edges are piled a variety of garden beau- 
ties. 

But, wonderful to see, in the centre rises a mam- 
moth cabbage. Its large-veined petals are as perfect 
as any you ever saw in your garden, but their tips 
reach above the third balcony. Upon these veined 
petals climb gorgeous butterflies, whose wings slowly 
shut and open while they sip. As the mammoth 
passes, the outer petals slowly droop, and snails are 
seen clinging within, while gayly-hued butterflies 
creep into view. 

Now the carriages mingle gayly in the procession. 
Here is one with young lads, their faces protected 
with gauze masks, which laughably show shut red 
lips without, and two red lines of lips and white glitter- 
ing teeth within. The battle of confetti waxes hot. 
Merry faces fill all balconies and windows. Many a 
beauty drops her mask for an instant like ourselves 
to peer more eagerly at the wonderful procession, but 
at her peril. On the instant dash I dash ! flies the 
cc'fetti, slung with force enough from the little scoops 
to sting sharply. 

War is the fiercest yonder where there is such a 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

handsome family (Americans we are sure), father, 
mother and daughter. 

Here goes a carriage decorated with United States 
flags ; all its occupants cloaked and hooded in graj' 
linen, the carriage covered likewise. They stop 
beneath the balcony, and sling! sling! sling! in wild- 
est combat until crowded on. 

Up and down the procession sweeps. Up one 
side the wide " Cours " and down the other \ the space 
within filled with the merry surging crowd, under 
the feet of the horses it would seem. But no mat- 
ter. Horses and men and women and children bear 
a charmed life to-day. 

Now and then a policeman pounces on the boys, 
who are gathering up the heaps of confetti from the 
dirt to sell again ; but this is the only suggestion of 
law and order behind the gay confusion. 

Here rolls a carriage trimmed with red and white. 
Within are a pair of scarlet dominoes, who peer mys- 
teriously at you. 

But look again at what moves on. A car longer 
than any yet seen. 

It is a grotto. Within its cool recesses bask 
immense lizards. Some slowly climb its sides, then, 
in search of prey, thrust out their long tongues. In 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

shining coat, in color, in movement, you would avow 
them to be lizards, truly. But how huge ! 

Behind the lizards pass again the mounted grass- 
hoppers, our favorites of all, for their wonderfully 
perfect form and dainty beauty. And lo ! they bear, 
to our delight, a silken banner, token of the prize. 

For, pets, do you read between the lines and 
understand that this wonderful procession was the 
result of truly artistic skill? — that to imitate per- 
fectly to the eye, to represent exactly in motion all 
these living creatures, and yet conceal within a boy 
or man who invisibly moved them, required all the 
delicacy of perception and nicety of workmanship of 
French eyes and fingers? Think you that your little 
fingers and bright eyes will ever attain so much. 

Besides, all this was also a great outlay of thou- 
sands of francs. For Nice aroused herself to excel 
in Carnival, and offered large prizes — one of five 
thousand francs, another of four, another of three — 
for the most perfect representations. 

Nowhere in Italy was there anything to compare 
with Nice. And I doubt if you would see again in 
Carnival what would so perfectly delight your young 
eyes, or so quicken your perception of artistic skill. 

We look at our watches. Two hours yet ; but we 
long to taste the fun on foot. So we fling our last 



Mardi Gras Jn Nice. 

confetti, fill hair and button-holes and hands with 
our sweet nosegays of geranium, sweet alyssum, 
mignonette and pansies — mementoes of the fight, 
— then descend to the sidewalk to press our way 
along the crowded court. 

More and more to see ! and, last of all, Carnival 
tossed and tumbled in effigy until his death by 
drowning or burning. 

But we must be early at the station. Early, 
indeed ! Peppered and pelted all the way, tweaked 
and shot at ; but ever and always with only the harm- 
less confetti and soft nosegays. 

Sure that we are the first to leave, sure that no 
others are there before us, we pass into the outer 
baggage-room. Fifty more are there pressed hard 
against the closed door. 

The crowd swells ; hundreds are behind us ; we 
can scarcely keep our feet. Yet what a good-natured 
crowd ! The hour for the train to leave passes. By 
and by the closed door opens a crack ; a gilt-banded 
arm is thrust through and one person taken out, and 
the solemn door closed again. 

So, one by one, we ooze through, pass the turn- 
stile in the passage under surveillance of the keen- 
eyed officer, and are admitted into the saloon, which 
is also locked. 



Mardi Gras In Nice. 

We sink down into a seat nearest the one of two 
doors which instinct tells us is to be opened. Again 
we wait an hour till the last panting victim is passed 
through the stile. 

Then, O ! it is not our door which unlocks and 
opens but the other. We rush for a compartment j 
but no ! all appear filled, so we step to an official 
and state our case. 

He conducts us on, on, nearly to the end of the 
train, over stones and timbers ; but, at last, bestows 
us out of that crowd in a compartment with but three 
persons. Soon we leave, only two hours later than 
the time advertised. 

For in France, little pets, the trains wait for the 
people. The people are locked in till all is ready ; 
then follows a rush like a grand game of " puss, 
puss in the corner ! " and almost always there is 
some poor puss who cannot get in. 

Guess how many bushels of confetti rattled on the 
floor of our chamber that night 1 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER. 

THE life of a boy in winter on the old-fashioned 
New England farn> seems to me one of the 
best of the right kinds of life for a healthy lad, pro- 
vided his tastes have not been spoiled by wrong 
reading, or by some misleading glimpse of a city by 
gas-l^ght. It certainly abounds with the blood and 
muscle-making sports for which the city physiologists 
so anxiously strive to substitute rinks and gymna- 
siums. 

But I rather pity a young fellow who gets his only 
sleigh rides by paying a dollar an hour to the livery- 
stable, and who must do his skating within limits on 
artificial ice. He never gets even a taste of such 
primitive fun as two boys I know had last winter. 
The sleigh was at the wagon-maker's shop for repairs 
when the first heavy snow fell, and they harnessed 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER. 

Dobbin to an old boat, and had an uproarious ride up 
hill and down dale, with glorious bumps and jolts. 

I rather pity a fellow, too, who eats grocer's apples, 
and confectioner's nuts, and baker's cream cakes, 
who never knows the fun of going down cellar to the 
apple bins to fill his pockets for school, and who 
owns no right in a pile of butternuts on the garret 
floor. I am sorry for a boy that knows nothing of 
the manly freedom of trowsers tucked in boots, hands 
and feet both cased in home-knit mittens and home- 
knit socks — I cannot believe his blood is as red, or 
can possibly flow so deep and strong in his side- 
walk sort of life, as the young fellows who chop 
wood and ply the snow-shovel, and turn out en masse 
with snow-ploughs after a long storm — the sound of 
the future strength of the land is in the sturdy stamp 
of their snowy boots at the door as they come in 
from their hearty work. I am not writing of country 
boys that want to be clerks, — they are spoiled for 
fun anyhow, — but of the boys that expect, if they 
expect anything in particular, to stay on the farm 
and own it themselves some day. 

This stinging cold morning the boys at the school- 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER. 

house door are not discussing tlie play-bills of the 
Globe or the Museum, but how the river froze last 
night, turning the long quiet surface to blue-black 
ice, as smooth as a looking-glass. Now what skating ! 
what grand noonings, what glorious evenings ! No 
rink or frog-pond, where one no sooner gets under 
headway than he must turn about, but miles and 
miles of curving reaches leading him forward be- 
tween rustling sedges, till he sees the white caps of 
the open lake dancing before him. 

Presently the snow comes and puts an end to the 
sport; for sweeping miles and miles of ice is out of 
the question. After the snow, a thaw ; and then the 
jolly snow-balling. There is not enough of a thaw 
to take the snow off; only enough to make it just 
sufficiently sloppy and soft for the freeze-up that 
follows to give it a crust almost as hard and smooth 
as the ice lately covered up. 

Then such coasting ! Just think of dragging 
your sled of a moonlight night up a mile of easy 
tramping to the foot of the mountain, whence you 
come down again, now fast, now slow, now '• like a 
streak " down a sharp incline, now running over a 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER. 

c\cn-rail fence buried in the glittering drifts, and 
bringing up at last at a neighbor's door, or at the back 
side of your own barnyard ! 

It is great fun, too, to slide on the drifts with 
■' slews " or " jump- ers." These are made sometimes 
of one, sometimes of two barrel-staves, and are sure 
l<) give you many a jolly bump and wintersault. 

TJiere is fun to be had in the drifts too, digging 
caves or under-snow houses, wherein you may build 
;i fire without the least danger. Here you can be 
Esquimaux, and your whole tribe sally forth from the 
i;;loe and attack a terrible white bear, if one of the 
party will kindly consent to be a bear for awhile. 
You can make him white enough by pelting him with 
snow, and he will bear&woxx^ before he is finally killed. 

There is fun, too, and of no mean order, to be got 
out of the regular farm duties. Not much, per- 
haps, out of bringing in the wood, or feeding the 
pigs, or turning the fanning-mill ; but foddering 
the sheep and calves, which, very likely, are pets, 
takes the boys to the hay-mow, where odors of 
summer linger in the herds-grass, and the daisy 
and clover-tops are almost as green and white and 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER, 

yellow and purple as when they fell before the scythe. 

What a place is this elastic floor for a "wrestle or a 
summersault! " and then, who "da's't " climb to the 
big beam, into the neighborhood of the empty swallows 
nests and dusty cobwebs, and take the flying jump 
therefrom to the mow ? Here, too, are hens' nests to be 
found, witli frost-cracked eggs to carry in rats, and 
larger prey, also to be hunted when the hay is so 
nearly spent that the fork sticks into the loose boards 
at the bottom of the hay. 

But of all things which the farmer's boy is wanted 
to do, and wants to do, there is nothing such clear fun 
as the breaking of a yoke of calves. First, the 
little yoke is to be got on to the pair somehow 
and a rope made fast to the " nigh " one's head, 
that is, the calf on the left side, where the driver 
goes. Then comes bawling and hauling and push- 
ing, and often too much beating, until the little 
cattle are made to understand that " Gee " means 
turn to the right, and " Haw " means turn to 
the left, and that " Whoa " means stop, and " Back" 
means, of them all, just what is said. 

Every command is roared and shouted ; for an 




56i 






UPON THE HAY-MOW, 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER. 

idea seems to prevail that oxen, big and little, are 
deaf as adders, and can never be made to hear except 
at the top of the voice. In a still, winter day, you 
may hear a grown-up ox-teamster roaring at his 
patient beasts two miles away ; and a calf-breaker 
not half his size may be heard more than half as far. 
Then, on some frosty Saturday, when the little nub- 
by-horned fellows have learned their lessons, they are 
hitched to a sled, and made to haul light loads, a 
little wood, or some of the boys, — tlie driver still 
holding to the rope, and flourishing his v.hip as grand 
as a drum-major. 

Once in a while the little oxen of the future take 
matters into their own hoofs and make a strike for 
freedom, upsetting the sled and scattering its load, 
and dragguig their driver headlong through the snow. 

But they have to submit at last; and three or four 
years hence, you would never think from their solemn 
looks and sober pace that they ever had thought of 
such rebellious freaks. They were the boy's calves, 
but father's oxen. 

Halter-breaking a colt is almost as good as break- 
ing steers, only there is no sled-riding to be had in this. 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER. 

Till lately, the young fellow has had the freedom 
of the fields, digging in the first snows for a part 
of his living, and with his rough life has grown as 
shaggy-coated as a Shetland pony, with as many 
burrs stuck in his short foretop as it will hold ; for 
if there is an overlooked burdock on all the farm, 
every one of the horse kind running at large will find 
it, and each get more than his share of burrs mat- 
ted and twisted into his foretop and mane. 

Now, he is waxed and driven into a shed or 
stable, and fooled or forced to put his head into a 
long, stout, rope halter. Then he is got into the 
clear, open meadow, and his first lesson begins. 
The boys all lay hold of the rope at a safe distance 
from the astonished pupil, and pull steadily upon 
him. Just now he would rather go any way than 
straight ahead, and holds back with all his might, 
looking, with all his legs braced forward, his neck 
stretched to its utmost, and his head on a line with 
it, like a stubborn little donkey who has lost some- 
thnig in ears, but nothing in willfulness, and gained 
a little in tail. At last he yields a little to the uncom- 
fortable strain, and takes a few reluctant steps for- 



ON THE FARM IN WINTER. 

ward, then rears and plunges and throws himself, and 
is drawn struggHng headlong through the snow, until 
he tires of such rough usage and flounders to his feet. 
Then he repeats his bracing tactics, the boys 
bracing as stoutly against him, till he suddenly gives 
way and they go tumbling all in a heap. 

If the boys tire out before the colt gives up, there 
are other days coming, and sooner or later he sub- 
mits ; and in part compensation for not having his 
own way, he has a warm stall in the barn, and eats 
from a manger, just like a big horse, and is petted 
and fondled, and grows to be great friends with his 
young masters — at last to be "father's horse," in- 
stead of " our colt." 

But by and by the long winter — this play-day 
of the year for the farm-boy — comes to an end, 
to make way for spring — spring which brings to 
him work out of all reasonable proportion to the 
amount of play, at least so the farm-boy is likely to 
think. 




A CHINAMAN'S QUEUE. 




E 



'VERYONE knows 
that a Chinaman 
wears his hair in a 
queue, but not every 
one knows why lie 
does so. A China- 
man's queue is not a 
mere oddity or variety; 
it is, to him, a very 
serious thing; losing 
it, he would almost sell his respectability, and history 
tells of more than one time when it has been a matter 
of life and death. 

In many of their customs the people of China fol- 
low their forefathers of more than a thousand years 
ago, but queues may be called a new fashion, having 



A Chinaman's Queue. 

only been worn about two hundred and fifty years. 

In very old times, the Chinese wore their long hair 
put up in a peculiar manner upon the tops of their 
heads, and called themselves "The iJlack-Haired 
Race ; " but about the time that the Pilgrims landed 
at Plymouth, in the year 1627, the Tartars, who had 
come down from Manchuria, and, after long wars, 
had conquered China, wliich they have governed ever 
since, made a law that all the Chinese, to show that 
they had been conquered, should take down their 
top-knots, and wear their hair as the Tartars did, in a 
hanging braid; and they threatened to kill all who 
would not do it. 

Of course the Chinese were greatly distressed by 
this j but, as it was better to have a tail than to be 
without a head, they submitted in the end, making 
the best of what they could not help. 

The people of southern China held out longest 
against the queue, and, in one district, men were hired 
to wear it. Even now, dwelling among tlie hills, are 
a few men belonging to a very old and wild tribe, 
whose pride it is that they have never worn hanging 
hair; while the Amoy men, who were the very last to 
yield to the Tartars, wear a turban to hide the shaven 
head, and the detested tail ; but some persons think 
tliat the nation in general have come to like the new 



A Chinaman^s Queue. 

style better that the old ; others think that they wouid 
gladly go back to the old way, if they could. 

A few years ago there was a great rebellion in 
China. A part of the Chinese rebelled against the 
Tartars, and all the rebels put up their hair in the old 
Chinese fashion ; and, because they did not shave 
their heads, they went by the name of the " Long- 
Haired Robbers." When any of their soldiers met 
a man with a queue they knew that he was loyal to the 
Tartar government, and they would kill him, or cut off 
his queue, or do what they liked with him ; and, on 
the other hand, the life of a " Long-Haired Robber " 
was not safe for a moment if he fell into the hands of 
the government troops. At length, after many, many 
millions of people were killed, queues carried the day, 
and the rebels were conquered. 

I have heard that thieves sometimes have their 
queues cut off for a punishment, and, now and then, I 
suppose, a person's hair must fall off after illness, 
but, in these cases, it would grow again. 

There are two classes of men in China who never 
wear queues — the Buddhist priests, who shave their 
heads all over, and who can be known by the color of 
their gowns, and their queer hats, and the Tauists, 
who, as a sign of their priesthood, wear their hair in 
a kind of twist on the back of their heads. With 



A Chi?iaman's Queue. 

these few exceptions, every Chinaman has a queue, 
from ihe young child whose short hairs are pinched 
up, sometimes on the crown of the head, and some- 
times on the sides of it, and braided with threads of 
red silk into a tight little tail a few inches long, so 
stiff that it stands straight out from the head, up to 
the almost bald old man, whose straggling gray hairs 
are tied into a thin wisp at the back of his neck. 

The Chinese have usually a good quantity of hair, 
coarse, perfectly straight, and jetty black, except, in 
a few cases, where, from illness, the color is rusty 
black. They have hardly any beard, but some of 
them — though not often before they are grandfathers, 
and more than forty years old — wear a much-admired 
moustache. Accustomed to black locks and smooth 
faces, they look curiously on the full beards of the 
men, and the yellow curls of the children, of our fairer 
race, or, as they style us, "The Red-Headed For- 
eigners." 

The Chinese shave the whole head, except a round 
patch on the crown, about as large as a breakfast 
saucer. On this they let the hair grow, and it is 
combed back and down, and tied firmly with a string, 
at the middle of the bottom of the patch. It is then 
divided into three strands and braided. If a man is 
very poor, he simply has a plat, the length of his hair, 



A Chinaman's Queue. 

fastened at the end with a cotton string ; but the Chi 
nese have a good deal of pride about their hair, and, 
if they can afford it, hke to have the queue hand- 
somely made. Often tresses of false hair are added 
to it, for making which the hairs that fall out are care- 
fully saved. Of course, the hair is thinner at the end 
than at the top, and to keep the braid of more even 
size, and to increase its length, long bunches of black 
silk cord are gradually woven into it. 

Queues vary in length, but grown men often weaf 
them hanging nearly to their shoes, the upper part of 
the braid being of hair, and the lower part of black 
silk cord, which is tied in a tassel at the end. In 
southern China, children's queues are made bright and 
jaunty with crimson silk. 

For mourning white cord is used, and for half 
mourning blue. Also, persons in mourning do not 
have their heads shaven for a certain length of time. 
When the emperor dies, nobody in China is expected 
to be shaven for one hundred days. 

Commonly, tidy, well-to-do people have their heads 
shaven every few days, and, as no one could easily 
shave the top of his own head, everybody employs a 
barber. Of course there are a great many barbers, 
and, with all the millions of people in China, they 
have a large business. 



A Chinaman^ s Queue. 

Besides the shops, many barbers have little mova- 
ble stands containing all their tools, and they may of- 
ten be seen plying their art by the wayside, or at the 
houses of their customers. The barber has a basin 
of hot water, a towel, and an awkward kind of razor j 
and when he has shaven and washed the head, and 
braided the hair of a man, he ends up all by patting 
him, with both hands, upon the back and shoulders, 
in a way which, to him, is truly delightful. For all 
this, his charge is not more than six cents, and a poor 
man would pay still less. 

To make his queue thicker, sometimes a Chinaman 
wishes to grow more hair, and the barber will leave 
his head unshaven for, perhaps, a quarter of an inch 
all round the old circle of hair. When the new hair 
is an inch or two long, being very stiff, it stands up in 
a fringe — , like a kind of black halo — all round his 
head, looking very comically, and annoying the China- 
man very much, until it is long enough to be put into 
the braid. 

When a man is at work, he finds his queue very 
much in his way, and he binds it about his head, or 
winds it up in a ball behind, where he sometimes fast- 
ens it with a small wooden comb ; but, in his own 
country, on all occasions of form and dress, he wears 
it hanging, and it would not be polite to do otherwise. 



A Chinaman's Queue. 

As it would take a long time to dry it, he dislikes 
to wet it, and, if rain comes on, hastens to roll it up 
and cover it. 

Sometimes beggars, to make themselves look very 
wretched, do not dress their hair for a long time, and 
it becomes so frizzed and matted that hardly any- 
thing could be done to it, but to cut most of it off. 

When a culprit is arrested in China, the officer 
takes hold of his queue and leads him to prison by 
it, often treating him very cruelly. 

Little girls, as well as little boys, have their heads 
shaven when they are about a month old. This is 
done before an idol, with a good deal of parade. 
Young girls also wear their hair in queues, but as 
when older their heads are not shaven like those of 
the boys, a larger quantity of hair is drawn back into 
the braid, making it much heavier. When married 
their hair is put up in the fashion of the women of the 
district where they live, but married women never 
wear their hair braided. 

One who has lived long in China does not like to 
see a thin, uneven queue, tied with a cotton string ; it 
has a slovenly, poverty-stricken air; while a thick, 
glossy braid, with a heavy bunch of silk in the end of 
it, looks tidy and prosperous ; and a neat plat of sil- 
very hair betokens comfortable old age. 



MEXICAN WATER-CARRIERS 

A MEXICAN water-carrier is always an oddly. 
■^^^ dressed fellow. He looks something like the 
man some one met "one misty, moisty morning," 
who was all clothed in leather. He has a leather 
cap, jacket and trousers, the last reaching only to his 
knees, and held aside with bright buttons of silver, 
so as to show the white cotton drawers beneath. 
Down the front of his jacket, too, and around the rim 
of his cap, are bright buttons. Fastened at his side 
is a leather wallet holding his money. On his feet 
are leather sandals. Over his head are two stout 
leather straps, holding two jugs of earthernware, one 



Mexican Wate)'- Carriers. 




ALWAYS ON A LITTLE INDIAN TROT. 



resting on his back and tlie other hanging in front. 
He begins work early in the morning. If you go 
into any of the pubHc squares in the city of Mexico, 
you will then see a great many of them all seated 
around the stone basin and busy preparing for the 



Mexican Water-Carriers. 

day's work. They reach far over the edge and, dip- 
ping up the water, fill their large jug. Throwing that 
on their backs they reach down once more and fill 
the smaller one, and then trot off and visit the differ- 
ent houses of the city, and sell the families what water 
they want. 

You would say, perhaps, it was a heavy load to 
carry by the head and neck, but the carrier does not 
seem to mind it, for he is very strong, and the jugs 
just balance each other. It is said an Englishman 
was once told of this balance, and, to see if it were 
so, he waited until a carrier came along and then, 
with his cane, broke one of the jugs. Alas ! down 
came the man, jugs and all \ his balance surely was 
gone. 

Water has to be brought about in this manner 
because none runs into the houses by lead pipes, as 
with us. It all comes from near the old castle of 
Chapultepec, three or four miles from the city. 

It runs over great stone aqueducts, built by Cortes, 
and when it reaches the public square falls into the 
stone basins of the city. So, you see, it makes these 
carriers almost like our milkmen, only they do not 
come with a fine horse and carriage, and do not 
make nearly as much money. They only get a few 
cents each day. How hard they work, too! Busy 



Mexican Water- Carriers. 

from morn till eve, always earnest, hardly ever smil- 
ing, always on a little Indian trot, they go about from 
house to house, and then, when the day's work is 
over, what a life they lead ! 

They have no home to go to, either; they live in 
the streets, sleep in the gutter or on the cathedral 
stone steps, and often, I fear, get so befogged on 
"pulque," the national drink, that they care not 
whether they have a home and good bed or not. 

Think what a miserable existence, not knowing 
how to read, dressing as those before them did three 
hundred years ago, and doing nothing but carrying 
water about the city. Every day they will go into the 
great cathedral and say their prayers. They put their 
jugs down beside them, clasp their hands, raise their 
eyes to the image of their patron saint, and mumble 
their requests or their thanks, and then, taking a last 
look at the gold candlesticks and rich ornaments, will 
hurry away, and continue their hard, uninteresting 
daily labors. 



A VERY QUEER HOUSE. 

THERE are few pleasanter places in summei 
than the great square of Et-Meidaun at Con- 
stantinople. The tall gray pointed monument in the 
middle, like a sentry watching over the whole place, 
the white houses along either side, the polished pave- 
ment, the high white walls and rounded domes, and 
tall slender towers and cool shadowy gateways of 
the Turkish mosques together with the bright blue 
sky overhead and the bright blue sea in the dis- 
tance below, make a very pretty picture indeed. 

The different people, too, that go past us are quite 
a show in themselves. Now, it is a Turkish soldier 
in blue frock and red cap — a fine tall fellow, but 



A Very Queer House. 

rather thin and pale, as if he did not always get 
enough to eat; now, a tall, dark, grave-looking Amer- 
ican, with a high funnel-shaped hat, and a long black 
frock right down to his feet. There comes a big, 
jolly-looking English sailor, rolling himself along 
with his hands in his pockets and his hat on one 
side. There goes a Russian with a broad flat face 
and thick yellow beard. That tall handsome man in 
the laced jacket and black velvet trousers, who is 
looking after him so fiercely, is a Circassian, who 
was fighting against the Russians among the moun- 
tains of the Caucasus not many years ago. And 
behind him is an Arab water-carrier, with limbs bare 
to the knee and a huge skin bag full of water on his 
back. 

But the strangest sight of all is still to come. 

Halting to look around I suddenly espy a pair of 
yellow Turkish slippers, a good deal worn, lying at 
the foot of a huge tree which stands alone in the 
midst of the open space. They are not flung care- 
lessly down, either, as if their owner had thrown 
them away, but placed neatly side by side ; just as an 
orderly old gentleman might put his slippers beside 
the fire before going out. And, stranger still, 
although at least half a dozen bare-footed Turks 
( who might think even an old shoe worth picking 



A Very Queer House. 

up) have passed by and seen them, not one of them 
has ventured to disturb them in any way. 

My Greek companion notices my surprise, and 
gives a knowing grin, Hke a man who has just asked 
you a riddle which he is sure you will never guess. 

" Aha, Effendi ! Don't you think he must have 
been a careless fellow who left his slippers there ? 
See anything odd about this tree? " 

" Nothing but that piece of board on it which I 
suppose covers a hollow." 

"That's just it ! " chuckles the Greek. *' It covers 
a hollow, sure enough — look here, Effendi ! " 

He taps thrice upon the " piece of board," which 
suddenly swings back like a door, disclosing to my 
astonished eyes, in the dark hollow, the long blue 
robe, white turban, and flowing beard of an old Turk, 

" Peace be with you ! " says the old gentleman in 
a deep hoarse voice, nodding to my companion, 
whom he seems to know. 

"With you be peace," answers the Greek. "You 
didn't expect that, did you, Effendi ? It's not every 
day that you find a man living inside a tree ? " 

" Does he live here, then ? " 

" To be sure he does. Didn't you see his slippers 
at the door ? Nobody would touch the slippers for 
any money. They all know old Selim. He has a 



A Very Queer House. 

snug house, after all ; and don't pay rent either ! " 
In truth, the little place is snug enough, and cer- 
tainly holds a good deal for its size. On one side is 
an earthen water-jar, on the other a huge blanket- 
like cloak, which probably represents Mr. Selim's 
whole stock of bedding. A copper stew-pan is fixed 
to a spike driven into the wood, while just above it 
a small iron funnel, neatly fitted into a knot-hole of 
the trunk, does duty as a chimney. Around the 
sides of the hollow hang a long pipe, a tobacco- 
pouch, a leathern wallet, and some other articles, all 
bearing marks of long service ; while to crown all, 
my guide shows me, triumphantly, just outside the 
door, a wooden shelf with several pots of flowers — 
a garden that just matches the house. 

Having given us this sight of his house-keeping, 
the old gentleman (who has been standing like a 
statue during the whole inspection) silently holds 
out his hand. I drop into it a double piastre (ten 
cents ) and take my leave, reflecting that if it is good 
to be content with little this old hermit is certainly a 
bit of a hero in his way. 



IN BELGIUM. 



AFTER rolling and tossing for twenty-four hours 
upon the German Ocean, the sight of land 
should be hailed with a spirit of thankfuhiess. But 
of all inhospitable shores, those of the Belgian coast, 
in the month of November, must carry the palm. 
The waters, gray and rough, dash upon a sandy beach 
for miles and miles, showing no signs of life, if we 
except an occasional wind-mill in action. Row after 
row of poplar trees form a partial back-ground. 
Somewhat stripped of their leaves, they have the 
appearance of so many gray pillars holding up 
the sky. 

As the low-built towns with their red houses rise to 
view, and the dikes present themselves, if this be the 
first introduction into Continental Europe, the foreign- 
ness stands out in bold relief. But as you ascend the 



In Belgium. 

river the villages are more interesting and indications 
of life more frequent. Long before reaching the pier 
at Antwerp, its towers salute the travellers, and the 
gratitude becomes apparent on each and every visage. 

Our little windows in the above-mentioned city 
overlooked its prettiest park, in the centre ot .vhich 
stands the statue of Rubens. At the right, yet full 
in view, stands the Cathedral of Notre Dame, famous 
for its ninety-nine bells (why not one more ?) and the 
masterpieces of the great artist of Antwerp. 

Of these paintings, the " Assumption," which has 
within a comparatively short time been restored, is 
truly beautiful, the countenances of the several figures 
wearing a pure expression, which is not a charac- 
teristic of the Rubens face in general. The fame of 
the others is perhaps yet greater than that of the 
"Assumption," and ever)rwhere in our own country 
are engravings and photographs of the same, on 
exhibition or in private collections. Before these 
the lover of art lingers to study, and studying con- 
tinues to linger. For me, alas ! these chef (Vceuvres, 
"The Ascent to the Cross" and the "The Descent 
trom the Cross," have no attractions. 

The music of the bells at sunset repays one, not. 
only for the tumble of the German Sea, but for the 
voyage across the Atlantic, especially in the autumn, 



In Belgium. 

when the twilights are so short that the Mall is light- 
est as the sun goes down. This music singularly 
contrasts with the noise made by the footfall of the 
peasants. This numerous class, hurrying home at 
dusk, take the park as their shorter course. The 
click-clack of the hundreds of wooden shoes of all 
sizes and intensities, rapidly "getting by," is some- 
thing that can never be imagined. As these articles 
of apparel are seldom of a snug fit in the region of 
the heel, there is a peculiar introduction to each 
grand step. The quantity and quality of this noise 
are astonishing ; the novelty, a charm. 

There is one sound, however, which is sensibly 
wanting among the lower class of Belgians. It may 
never have been in the experience of others, but it 
could not be entirely my own imagination — I missed 
the human voice in the groups of peasantry. The 
uneducated of othef countries have at least a common 
"mongrel tongue" to some extent, but the individual 
vocabulary of this class is certainly very limited, 
which is a check to prolonged conversation. This 
feature was to me a cause satisfactory for the stillness 
of the streets, thronged as they sometimes are, and 
may be the reason that the foot-fall is so impressive, 
with itsi'wooden encumbrances. 



In Belgium. 

Next to the shoe, the attraction was the harnessed 
dogs and the young girls drawing burdens. 

When a woman was seen wheeling a cart or trun- 
dling a barrow, it was just to conclude that she was in 
the interest of her own gain, and we could pass on. 
When the dogs, the old and despised of their kind, 
were leisurely carrying their wagon of vegetables, 
provided the driver was kind, it was rather a foreign 
sight than a painful one. Often these dogs lie down 
in the harness — the latter not being very elaborate — 
and do not seem unwilling to rise to the occasion. 
When it happened, as often it did, during our short 
sojourn in Belgium, that we saw girls, the young and 
bright and strong, bearing these burdens, frequently 
sharing the harness with the aforesaid animals, the 
American heart rebelled. If they were rough, hoyden- 
ish girls, romping all day long, filling their carts with 
sand for the fun and having a boy-companion as a 
play-driver, we should even then think, do they never 
go to school ? 

But they were not of this class ! They were the 
quiet and obedient, generally tidy in appearance, 
calmly accepting their lot in life through ignorance. 
I never saw a boy thus disgraced ; not that I feel less 
glad for "him," but the more sad for "her." 

When walking one day, having lost my way, I met 



In Belgium. 

one of these teams. There were connected with it two 
young girls, about fifteen years of age — one har- 
nessed and drawing the load, the other having the 
charge of the cargo, which, from its too great abun- 
dance, required constant diligence. I . inquired of 
them the direction to the hotel. 

Without altering a muscle, they continued their 
gaze (we had begun the stare from afar). So listless 
was it that they seemed like pet animals, who look 
at one confidingly, except in the case of the latter 
there will be " wink of recognition." No attempt 
was made to reply. After I turned, they kept their 
eyes upon the space which I had occupied, as if I 
had merely been an obstruction to their sunshine. A 
person, not far from them, answered my inquiries, 
adding, with a nod towards the " little workers," 
"they only talk mongrel." 

This woman, short and chubby, forcibly reminded 
me of somebody or something in the past. After a 
brief reflection, behold the solution : 

Before toys had become so elaborate in our own 
country, there occasionally found their way from 
Holland images of pewter, representing the dairy- 
maids of that part of Europe. They were far diflfer- 
ent from the pewter-pieces of the present day, being 
thicker and less destructible. The one that came 



In Belgium. 

into my possession, the delight of ray heart, wore the 
short, full dress and sun-bonnet, with arms akimbo. 
The one, ah me ! that would have been ray choice 
was purchased by a class-mate, she having at that 
time, and I presume at this time, twice my amount of 
funds. The price of this precious bit was two cents. 
The latter figure, unlike mine, had the pail poised 
upon the head. It was probably a true likeness of 
the renowned maid that counted the chickens in 
advance, thereby showing the people of her country 
to have been "born calculators.' I think, the 
little body that showed me the way to my lodgings 
descended in a direct line from this old mathematical 
stock, and was a little proud of her origin. Her 
language was a mixture of Dutch, French, and, for all 
I know, several dead languages, but — and I have her 
own authority for it — not a mongrel tongue. Out of 
gratitude to one who led me to ray home, I should 
speak well of this woman, as of the proverbial bridge, 
so am quite willing to accept her statement and 
allow her a '* pure dialect." 



JOE THE CHIMPANZEE. 

WHEN in England I was very much interested 
in the monkeys at the Zoological Gardens, 
Regent's Park, London. There were hundreds of 
all kinds and sizes, from the gigantic orang-outang 
to tiny creatures not much bigger than a large rat. 

These monkeys had a spacious glass house, heat- 
ed by steam ; and as a tropical temperature was al- 
ways maintained, tall palms and luxurious vines grew 
so vigorously within its walls that I have no doubt 
the quaint inmates supposed themselves in their 
native haunts. 

They chattered and scolded each other, wildly 
chased stray little dogs and kittens, and really 
seemed to know so much that I half believed an old 
keeper, who told me the only reason they did not 



jFoe the Chimpanzee. 

talk, was because they could make themselves well 
enough understood without. 

Many funny stories I heard of their sagacity. One 
I recall of a nurse who shook a naughty little boy in 
the presence of some of the mother monkeys, where- 
upon all the old monkeys began shaking all the 
young ones until it seemed as if their poor little 
heads would drop off. 

But, interested in all the singular inhabitants of the 
house, I grew attached to Joe, the young chimpanzee 
who had been brought a baby from the coast of Guinea 
the winter before. He had a little room on the sun- 
ny side of the monkey house, with a stove, table, 
chairs and a couple of beds arranged like the berths 
in the state room of an ocean steamer. Besides he 
had a man all to himself, to wait upon him ; and it 
was no wonder the other monkeys were jealous of 
his superior quarters and the deference paid him ; for 
while Joe was not handsome he was worth more 
money than all the others put together. 

He was worth this great sum because he belonged 
to the most intelligent and interesting species of the 
monkey family, and only one or two of his kinsfolk 
had ever been seen in Europe, while the only one the 
Zoological Society had ever owned, had died of lung 



yoe the Chimpanzee. 

fever before he had inhabited his comfortable quar- 
ters many months. 

Joe was about as tall as an average boy of eight 
or ten years. He wore a thick cloth roundabout, 
and a low flat trencher cap such as the Oxford stu- 
dents delight in. 

One day I walked to the door of his room and 
knocked. The keeper said " Come in/' and as I did 
so Joe walked erect over the floor to me, pulled off 
his cap with his left hand, and put out his right to 
shake mine. When I said " It is a fine morning,'* 
he bowed briskly ; but when I added, " Are you pret- 
ty well, Joe .? " he shook his head and looked very 
sober. The keeper explained : " Joe had a cold, and 
that made him very low spirited." 

Joe was listening attentively ; and when the man 
finished, he shivered and drew up the collar of 
his jacket round his hairy throat, as if to confirm the 
statement. 

I gave him an apple, which he looked at a mo- 
ment, then opened the door of the oven of his stove, 
and put it in out of sight. Seeming to understand 
that the fire was low, he pulled a basket from under 
the lower berth and took some bits of wood from it 
to the stove. Then the keeper handed him a match, 



Joe the Chhnpanzee. 



and he lighted a fire as cleverly as any Yankee boy 
I ever saw, 

" Show the lady how you read The Times, Joe/' 
said the keeper. 




JOE READS " The Times?' 

Joe drew up a chair^ tilted it back a little^ spread 
his legs apart, opened the sheet, turned it until he 
found the page he waiited, then settled himself into 
the exact position of the comfortable English gentle- 



jFoe the Chimpanzee. 

man who supposes The Times is printed for his ex- 
clusive use. It was impossible to help laughing, and 
the sly twinkle in his narrow eye assured us Joe him- 
self knew how funny it was. 

Quite a crowd had gathered at the open door of 
his room, and as he noticed it, he put his hand in his 
pocket drew out the one eye-glass Englishman so 
particularly affect, and put it to his eye looking as 
weakly wise as Lord Dundreary himself. After a 
little he grew tired of so many spectators, left his 
chair and quietly shut the door in their faces. 

Looking about as if he would do something more 
for our amusement, he remembered his apple in the 
stove oven. Running there he took hold of the door, 
but suddenly drew back, for it was hot. He laughed 
a little at his discomfiture which he took in good 
part, stood thinking a moment, then used his pocket- 
handkerchief as deftly as a dainty lady would to ac- 
complish his purpose. But if the door was hot, 
■the apple, Joe logically reasoned, must be hotter ; so 
he ventured not to touch it before opening his knife. 
Wondering what he was going to do, I found him 
sticking the blade into the apple and bringing it out 
in triumph. The keeper gave him a plate, and after 
letting the apple cool a little he offered it to us. We 



yoe the Chimpanzee. 



courteously declined, but the servant tasted, ex- 
plaining that Joe did not like to eat anything alone. 
Then Joe followed, but did not like the flavor, and 
being asked if it was sour, he nodded. We were 




JOE TRIES HIS APPLE. 

told that he, in common with the other monkeys, 
liked oranges and bananas better than any other 
fruits. 



yoe the Chimpanzee. 

Yet he kept tasting a little of the apple from a 
spoon while the keeper told us how the sailors who 
hoped to capture his mother only succeeded in bring- 
ing him off alive after they had killed her. They 
had hard work to keep him alive on board ship, but 
found a warm nook for him by the galley fire. He 
was in fair health when they landed, so they obtained 
the large price offered by the Zoological Gardens ; 
but in spite of the most devoted care, he seemed to 
languish in his new home. 

" Do you love me, Joe?" the man ended his story 
with. Joe nodded, smiled, and put his head lovingly 
on the other's shoulder. 

As we left that day, Joe took his hat, cane, and 
heavy wrap, and escorted us to the great door of the 
monkey house, shaking our hands as we bade him 
good-bye. 

Another time when I called he was taking tea, us- 
ing milk and sugar and handlin^^ cup and saucer as 
if he had been familiar with them from his earliest 
days. He motioned us to take chairs. We did so 
and he jumped up^ found cups for us, and then 
passed a plate of biscuits, laughing with glee as we 
took one. I have taken tea with many curious indi- 



jfoe the Chimpajizee. 

viduals, but never expect to be so honored again as 
to be invited by a chimpanzee. 

Noticing his hand was feverish, I found his pulse 
was 130. I said " What is the matter of him ? " 

" Consumption is what kills all of them," the man 
answered, low, just as if talking before a human 
invalid. 

From that day Joe failed rapidly, and one morning 
under the head of " Great Loss," The Times an- 
nounced that he died at midnight. 

I went down at once to see the keeper whose grief 
I knew would be keen. 

He told me how for days, Joe could only be per- 
suaded to take food by seeing him eat and hearing 
him praise it, how he made him sleep in his berth by 
his side, and when death came, held his hand through 
all the last struggle. 

The man's voice was actually choked with sobs as 
he said, " It don't seem right, indeed it don't, not to 
have a funeral for him ! He ought to have had it." 

I never heard Joe had any funeral, but I did hear 
that he was stuffed, and looks more like a big boy 
than when he was alive. 



MARKET DAY AT PAU. 

JF you don't know where Pau is, do as I did when 
I first heard of it, — look it up on some large map 
of France. 

Down in the southeast corner, at the mouth of the 
Adour river, you will see the city from which the bay- 
onet is said to have received its name ; and if you 
move your finger along about an inch due east from 
Bayonne you will be likely to pass it directly under 
Pau. 

It is the capital of one of the finest departments of 
France, the Basses-Pyrenees; and its mild, equable 
climate and charming scenery have made it, for the 
last thirty years, a favorite winter resort for invalids 
and pleasure-seekers. 

As the capital of the old province of B^arn, and as 
the seat of the ancient royal castle where flourished 



Market- Day at Pau. 

the Gastons and Marguerites, and where Henri IV. of 
France was born, Pau has many interesting historical 
associations, upon which, however, we must resolutely 
turn our backs if we mean to go to market this morn- 
ing. 

Monday is always market-day at Pau, and /then it 
is that the country comes bodily in and takes posses- 
sion of the town. At five o'clock in the morning the 
rumbling of cart-wheels and the clatter of sabots 
down in the cold gray streets announce the approach 
of a rustic army from the villages round about. On 
they come from every quarter all through the fore- 
noon, and if we walk out anywhere — say to the 
AUd^s de Morlaas, where we can sit on one of the 
benches under the trees and gaze now and then at 
the distant snowy Pyrenees, — we shall see the end- 
less stream of market-people. 

The men wear round woolen caps without visors, 
called the Mret ; a short frock, usually of some coarse 
cotton material, which is gathered so much about the 
neck as not to improve their stumpy figures; and 
huge wooden shoes that rattle and thump along the 
pavements, bringing with them on rainy days an in- 
credible quantity of country mud. 

The most noticeable feature in the dress of the 
women is the bright foulard handkerchief that serves 



Market-Day at Pau. 

instead of hat or bonnet. It is arranged according to 
the taste and age of the wearer, and is capable of 
producing a wide range of effects. 

The guide-book assures us that the paysannes walk 




A PEASANT WOMAN. 



barefoot on the country roads ; but, upon approach- 
ing the town, they cover their wayworn feet with the 
cherished shoes and stockings that have thus been 
spared from wear and tear. 



Market-Day at Pau. 

On a cold spring morning we saw a company of 
women descending a hill at Lourdes with enormous 
bundles of wood on their heads. As we were pitying 
the bare feet that went toiling down the steep way, 
we suddenly spied their shoes dangling from the fag- 
ots where they had considerately placed them, to be 
out of harm. 

The strength of these little peasant women is won- 
derful. They walk off with grand strides, carrying 
heavy burdens on their heads, and sometimes knitting 
as they go. Many of the young girls are very pretty \ 
but exposure and hard work soon change the fresh 
tint and the graceful outlines to a brown wrinkled 
visage and a gaunt ungainly figure. 

Sitting here, we are attracted by a jaunty young 
creature tripping along with a large, round, shallow 
basket of salad, or choux de Bruxelles, on her head, 
carelessly steadying it with one hand, while in the 
other she carries a pair of chickens or a basket of 
eggs. But how can we see a pinched-looking woman 
tugging along under a big bag of potatoes, or break- 
ing stones on the road, without feeling tired ourselves 
and sad ? And neither the sadness nor the weariness 
is lightened upon seeing, as we invariably do, that 
when a woman is working with a man he generously 
gives her the heaviest end of the load. 



Market-Day at Pau. 

The wood is brought in on clumsy carts, generally 
two-wheeled and often covered. The oxen and cows 
that draw these carts have their bodies draped with 
coarse linen covers, and across their heads is a strip 
of sheep-skin, which is worn with the shaggy side out 




i^iK^^4Av 



— ,-s^-^f:^^^ 



Ox-team. 



and the skinny side in. M. Taine tells us in his 
book on the Pyrenees that he saw the heads of the 
cattle protected by thread nets and ferns, which, I 
trust is their usual summer coiffure ; for in a country 
where, in winter, gentlemen carry parasols and wear 
large white streamers depending from their hats, to 
protect the head and back of the neck from the too 
ardent rays of the sun, even the " patient ox " might 



Market-Day at Pau. 

complain of the unfitness of a head-dress of sheep 
skin. 

The driver of the ox-team is armed with a long 
stick, at the end of which is an iron goad. This he 
uses either in guiding the cattle, which is done by go- 
ing in advance of them and stretching the stick back- 
ward with a queer, stiff gesture, or in pricking and 
prodding the poor creatures till they hardly know 
which way to turn. The cattle, which are mostly of a 
light brown color, are very large and fine ; but it 
seems strange to us to see cows wearing the yoke. 

But, O ! the donkey ! The wise, the tough, the 
musical, the irresistible, the universal donkey ! How 
shall I ever give you an idea of what he becomes to 
an appreciative mind that has daily opportunities of 
studying his " tricks and manners ! " 

Fancy one of these long-eared, solemn-eyed gentry, 
scarcely larger than a good-sized Newfoundland dog 
jogging along with a double pannier bulging at his 
sides and a fat market>woman on his back. 

But the disproportion between the size of the beast 
and that of his burden, and his gravity and circum- 
spection, is scarcely funnier here than when he is 
placed before a two-wheeled cart, a story and a half 
higher than himself, and containing a man, a woman, 
a boy, and a pig ) sometimes cabbages and chickens, 



Market-Day at Pau, 

often two or three inexperienced calves. And in the 
afternoon, when market is over, I have often seen six 
or seven women huddled into one of these primitive 
chariots, each provided with the inevitable stocking 




'^A^-^^: 



V:^ 



" One of these long-eared, solemn-eyed gentry." 

her tongue and her knitting-needles keeping time as 
the cart goes tilting along over the famous roads of 
the Basses-Pyrenees. The gay handkerchiefs of the 
women, the purple, blue and gray stockings with 
their flashing needles, and the huge brown loaves of 
bread sure to be protruding in various quarters, made 



Market-Day at Pau. 

these groups, returning from market, most pictur- 
esquely striking. 

Coming in from the AUth de Morlads we find, as 
we approach the Place des Egoles, an animated scene. 
The broad sidewalk is lined with rows of women sell- 
ing vegetables, fruit, flowers, poultry and eggs. The 
haggling of the buyers and the gibing of the venders, 
though carried on in patois unintelligible to us, are 
expressed in tones and accompanied by gestures that 
translate them quite effectively ; especially as not a 
market-day passes without a long recital from our 
Catherine, illustrating the greed of the peasants and 
her own superior finesse. 

" How much do you want for this chicken ? " 

" Three francs." 

" Keep your chicken for somebody see. I'll go to 
another." 
. " Stay ! What will you give for it ? " 

"Two francs." 

" Get along with you ! " 

As Catherine eyes the chicken which she secretly 
admires and openly abuses, another cook comes up 
and lays her hand on its comely breast. It is a deci- 
sive moment, but Catherine is equal to the emer- 
gency. 

" Stand off there ! I'm here first." 



Market-Day at Pau. 

Then, with a secret resolve that her demoiselles shall 
dine on that little plump poulet, she offers fifty sous 
and carries off the prize. To see her enter our salon 
bearing a waiter on which are a dozen fine rosy ap- 
ples and two large russet pears, with the question, 
" Guess how much I paid for all ? " written in every 
line of her shrewd old face, is something worth com- 
ing to Europe for. To make a sharp bargain, to 
cook a good dinner, and never to waste anything, 
tliese are the aims of her life and the themes of her 
discourse. 

( ur snug appartement is opposite the Place des 
Egoles, where the wood and cattle are sold ; and the 
first peep in the morning gives us a picture, lively 
enough and foreign enough to make us look and look 
again many times during the day till late in the af- 
ternoon when the Place is nearly bare ; and the aspect 
of the few patient but rather dejected-looking peas- 
ants whose wood has not yet found purchasers al- 
most tempts us to run over and buy a load or two, 
just for the pleasure of sending the poor creatures 
home with lighter hearts and heavier pockets. What 
would Catherine say to that, I wonder ? 

Besides the interest which we feel in the various 
natural hangers-on of the wood-carts ( and each one 
has from two to five of both sexes and all sizes), we 



Market- Day at Pau. 




"The favorite way of transporting a pig." 

get no small amusement from their patrons, who rep- 
resent all sorts of townspeople, from the fat old 
woman of the green grocery and sausage-shop over 
the way, who peddles with easy affability among the 
market-people, to the lordly young Englishman who 
dashes on to the Place, with the air of a conquering 
hero, and loftily indicates with his riding-whip the 
load that has the honor to meet his approval. 

Troops of frisky calves are scattered about, and 
groups of blue blouses and red berets are earnestly 
discussing the merits of the unsuspecting innocents. 
More rarely a fine cow, or a yoke of oxen, attracts a 



Market-Day at Pau. 

circle of connoisseurs; then ihe patois becomes more 
fluent, and the gestures more animated, and the fists 
of the interested parties are seen flourishing unpleas- 
antly near the disdainful noses of the critics. 

The prolonged and penetrating squeal of that pig 
in the Hue des Cultivateurs reminds me that this in- 
teresting animal figures largely in the scenes of mar- 
ket-day. Pork being an important article of peasant 
diet, Mr. Piggy is always abroad on Monday and con- 
tributes largely to the general eclat. 

The favorite way of transporting a moderate sized 
pig is to put him about the neck, holding his hind 
feet with one hand and his forefeet with the other. 
This method, though attended with some disadvan- 
tages, such as the proximity of the squeal to tlie ear 
of the carrier, is, on the whole, less worrying than 
that of lying a string to one of the hind legs of his 
Porkship, this giving him a chance to pull his way 
with more or less effect, while the peasant is frantic- 
ally jerking in the opposite direction. 

Not infrequently a pig gets a ride home from mar- 
ket in the cart of his new owner. Then, true to his 
nature and principles, he resists the honor accorded 
him with the whole might of his legs and lungs ; so 
that, with a man at his hind legs, a woman at his 
left ear, and a boy at his right fore leg, he is with dif- 



Market-Day at Pau. 

ficulty assisted to his coach and is held \h^xQ^^ en route, 
by that " eternal vigilance " which is, in more senses 
than one, " the price of liberty." 

On the Rue Porte Neuve and near the Halle Neuve, 
in the centre of the town, the venders of agricultural 
implements, kitchen hardware, locks and keys, second- 




"A GRAY-HAIRED SPINNER WITH HER ANCIENT DISTAFF." 

hand books, handkerchiefs, collars, cuffs, hats, brace- 
lets, rings, baskets, brooms, bottles, mouse-traps, and 
other miscellaneous articles, display their goods, and 
a sudden shower makes bad work in this busy com- 
munity. 



Market-Day at Pau. 

By the Halle Neuve is the fruit and vegetable mar- 
ket also, and farther on, in the Rue de la Prkfecture, 
we suddenly come upon a hollow square inclosed on 
three sides by ancient looking buildings, one of which 
is the Nieille Halle ; and here are fish, poultry and 
game, and the queerest-looking market-people in the 
whole town, it seems to me. 

There is a flower market on the Plaee Royal, and 
you will see the Spanish women there, with their 
foulards and trinkets, to catch a few sous from the 
rustics. 

We cannot confine our interest to the market-folk, 
however, for everybody is more or less picturesque in 
this strange land, and we are never tired of saying, 
" See here," and '*See there.' Sometimes it is a gray- 
haired spinner with her ancient distafif that attracts 
our notice, as she sits in a sunny door-way or totters 
along the sidewalk ; and then there are the antics of 
these foreign children ! Bearnais boys are as fond of 
standing on their heads as their American brethren 
are, but their large and heavy sabots are a great in 
convenience. 

Just look at those wooden shoes ranged along the 
sidewalk over there, while the owners thereof are 
flourishing their emancipated heels in fine style. 

These are some of the sights of a market-day at 



Market-Day at Fau. 

Pauj but how can you ever get a notion of the 
sounds ? For when we add to the market-day hub- 
bub the various every-day street cries that mingle 




"As FOND OF STANDING ON THEIR HEADS AS THEIR AMERICAN BRETHREN." 

with it we have a strange orchestra. 

There are the charcoal men, who begin on a high 
key and drop with an almost impossible interval to a 
prolonged, nasal, twanging note ; the old clo' men, 
\N\\ose patois for rags sounds so exactly like my com- 



Market-Day at Pau. 

panion's name that she is sure they are after the 
dresses she is economically wearing out at Pau ; the 
chimney-sweeps ; the jonchee women, who sell cream 
cheese, rolled in what looks like onion-tops ; the 
roasted chestnut women, whose shrill " Tookow 1 " 
(^patois for " Tout chaud^' ) suggests piping-hot chest- 
nuts in bursting shells ; and the crockery and earthen 
men, who push their wares before them in long shal- 
low box-carts, and give, in a sustained recitative, the 
whole catalogue of delf and pottery. 

In the afternoon when the noise and stir aie sub- 
siding, we hear a few notes, often repeated, from 
what I should like to call a shepherd's pipe ; only the 
instrument in question is not in the least like one, 
but resembles more one of those little musical toys 
with a row of holes cut along one side, upon which 
our children at home are so fond of performing. 
However, our shepherd contrives to produce a pasto- 
ral effect with his simple strain, and we favor the illu- 
sion of the pipe by only listening to him, while we 
look at his pretty goats with long, silky black hair. 
He leads them through the town twice a day, and at 
the sound of his call those who wish goat's milk send 
out their glasses and get it warm from a goat milked 
at the door. As his last faint notes die out in the 
distance the rosy light fades from the peaks of the 
Pyrenees ; the sun has set, and market-day is over. 



IL SANTISSIMO BAMBINO. 

ON the Capitoline Hill, in Rome, stands a churcn, 
twelve hundred years old, called Ara Coeli. It 
is unpromising in its outward appearance, but is rich 
in marbles and mosaics within. 

The most precious possession of this ancient church 
however, is a wooden doll called II Santissimo Bam- 
bino — The Most Holy Infant. It is dressed hke an 
Italian baby, and an Italian baby is dressed like a 
mummy. We often see them in their mothers' arms, 
so swathed that they can no more move th9,n a bundle 
without any baby inside of it. Their little legs must 
ache for the freedom of kicking. The dress of the 
Bambino is very different from that of a bambino after 
all, for it is cloth of silver, and it sparkles all over 
with jewels which have been presented to it, and it 
wears a golden crown upon its head. 

This is the history of this remarkable doll, as devout 




The Bambino. Page 205. 



H Santissimo Bambino. 

Roman Catholics believe. You must judge for your- 
selves how much of it is truth and how much fable. 

They say this image of the infant Saviour was 
carved from olive-wood which grew upon the Mount 
of Olives, by a monk who lived in Palestine ; and, as 
he had no means of painting it with sufficient beauty, 
his prayers prevailed upon St. Luke to come down 
from Heaven and color it for him. Then he sent it to 
Rome to be present at the Christmas festival. It was 
shipwrecked on the way, but finally came safely to 
land, and was received with great reverence by the 
Franciscan monks, who placed it in a shrine at Ara 
Coeli. It was soon found to have miraculous power 
to heal the sick, and was so often sent for to visit 
them, that, at one time, it received more fees than any 
physician in Rome. It has its own carriage in which 
it rides abroad, and its own attendants who guard it 
with the utmost care. 

One woman was so selfish as to think it would be 
a capital thing if she could get possession of this won- 
der-working image for herself and her friends. 

" She had another doll prepared of the same size 
and appearance as the ' Santissimo,' and having 
feigned sickness and obtained permission to have it 
left with her, she dressed the false image in its 
clothes, and sent it back to Ara Coeli. The fraud was 



n Santissimo Bambino. 

not discovered till night, when the Franciscan monks 
were awakened by the most furious ringing of bells 
and by thundering knocks at the west door of the 
church, and, hastening thither, could see nothing but 
a wee, naked, pink foot peeping in from under the 
door ; but when they opened the door, without 
stood the little naked figure of the true Bambino 
of Ara Coeli, shivering in the wind and rain. So the 
false baby was sent back in disgrace, and the real 
baby restored to its home, never to be trusted away 
alone any more." 

This marvelous escape is duly recorded in the 
Sacristy of the church where the Bambino safely 
dwells under lock and key all the year, except the 
time from Christmas to Epiphany, when it comes 
out to receive the homage of the people. 

We went to see it last Christmas. 

As I told you, the church stands on one of the Seven 
Hills of the Eternal City ; it is approached by a flight 
of stone steps as wide as the building itself and as 
high as the hill. There were many beggars on 
these steps ; some old and blind, others young and 
bright-eyed. Beside the beggars, there were people 
with tiny images of the Baby in the Manger, toy 
sheep, and pictures of the Bambino for sale. 

When we went into the church, we found one of the 



H Santissimo Bambino. 

chapels fitted up like a tableau. The chapels are some- 
thing like large alcoves along the sides of a church. 
Each is consecrated to some saint, and often belongs 
to some particular family who have their weddiags 
and funerals there. 

It was in the second chapel on the left that we 
found the scene represented. The Virgin Mary was 
dressed in a bright blue silk, adorned with various 
jewels. In her lap lay the Bambino, about the size of 
a baby six weeks old. I do not believe St. Luke 
painted its face, for it was not half so well done 
as most of the wooden dolls we see. An artifi- 
cial mule had his nose close to the baby's head. 
Joseph sat near, and in front the shepherds were 
kneeling. All these people were of life-size, made of 
wood, and dressed in real clothes. Beyond them was 
to be seen a pretty landscape — sheep, covered with 
real wool, a girl with a pitcher on her head coming down 
a path to a sparkling fountain of glass. In the dis 
tance was the town of Bethlehem. In mid-air hov- 
ered an angel, hung by a wire in his back from the 
ceiling. On pasteboard screens, above the Virgin and 
Child were painted a crowd of cherubs looking down, 
and in their midst God the Father — whom no one 
hath seen nor can see — was represented in the like- 
ness of a. venerable man, spreading his hands in 
blessing over the group below. 



H Santissimo Banbino. 

A great many little children were coming with the 
older people to look at all this, and talking, in their 
pretty Italian tongue, about the " Bambino." 

JEpiphany, as perhaps you know, is the day kept in 
memory of the visit of the Wise Men where the Star 
in the East guided to our Saviour's cradle. On that 
day, II Santissimo Bambino was to be carried with all 
ceremony back to the Sacristy ; so we went to see 
that. 

We were glad to find the Blessed Virgin had two 
nice silk dresses ; she had changed from blue to red, 
and the Bambino was standing on her knee. The 
Shepherds had gone, and the Wise Men had come, 
all very gorgeous in flowered brocade and cloth of 
gold, with crowns on their heads, and pages to hold 
their trains. 

It was yet an hour or two before the " Procession of 
the Bambino" would proceed ; so we went out of 
the side door of the church to stray about the Capito- 
line Hill in the meanwhile. 

We went down the steps where Tiberias Gracchus, 
the friend of the people, was killed, some two thou- 
sand years ago. That brought us into a small square 
called Piazza di Campidoglio. It is surrounded on 
three sides by public buildings, and in front has a 
grand stairway leading down to the street. It was in 
tills very spot that Brutus made his famous speech 



H Santissimo Bambino. 

after the assassination of Julius Cagsar. We crossed 
the square, went up some steps and through an arch- 
way. 

A company of little Romans were playing soldier 
there, and the small drum-major made the walls of 
the capitol resound with his rattling music. That 
reminds me to tell you that Santa Claus does not 
visit Italy ; but an old woman, named Navona, comes 
instead. She may be his wife, for aught I know ; in 
fact, it seems quite likely, for she has a way, just like 
his, of coming down the chimney, bringing gifts for 
the good children and switches for the naughty. 
These must have been very good little boys, for 
every one of them seemed to have a new sword or 
gun. Probably Navona has to keep the house while 
Santa Claus is away about his Christmas business, 
and that is the reason she does not reach her small 
people here until the night before Epiphany, the 6th 
of January. 

We went down a lane of poor houses, dodging the 
clothes which hung drying over our heads, and came 
to a large green gate in the high stone wall of a gar- 
den. We knocked, but no one answered. Presently 
a black-eyed little boy came running to us, glad to 
earn two or three sous by going to call the custode. 
While we wait for him to do so, I must tell you why 



n Saniissimo Bambino. 

we wished to go through this green door. You have 
read, either in Latin or English, the story of Tarpaeia, 
the Roman maiden, who consented to show the Latin 
soldiers the way into the citadel if they would give 
her what they wore on their left arms, meaning their 
bracelets, and then the grim joke they played after 
she had done her part, by throwing upon her their 
shields, which were also "what they wore on their 
left arms." 

It was to see the Tarpaeian rock, where she led her 
country's enemies up, and where, later, traitors were 
hurled down, that we wished to go through the gate. 
Presently the keeper came, a rosy young woman, lead- 
ing a little girl, who was feeling very rich over a new 
dolly she was dangling by its arm. 

We were admitted to a small garden, where pretty 
pink roses were in blossom, and the oranges were 
hanging on the trees, though the icicles were fringing 
the fountain not far away. On the edge of the gar- 
den, along the brow of the cliff, runs a thick wall of 
brown stone ; we leaned over it and looked down the 
steep rock which one assaulting party after another 
tried, in old times, to scale. 

It was on this side that the Gauls were trying to 
reach the citadel at the time the geese saved the cify 
Do you know that for a long time, annually, a dog 






_., s*^ 1 




FAMILY OF ROMAN BEGGARS. 



H Santissimo Bambino. 

was crucified on the capitol, and a goose carried in 
triumph, because, on that occasion, the dogs failed to 
give the alarm and the geese did it ! 

We looked down on the roofs and into the courts 
of poor houses which have huddled close about the 
foot of the hill, but beyond them we could look down 
into the Forum, where Virginia was stabbed, where 
Horatius hung up the spoil of the Curiatii, where the 
body of Julius Caesar was burned, where the head of 
Cicero was cruelly exposed on the very rostrum where 
had often been seen the triumph of his eloquence. 
Opposite to us stood the Palatine Hill, a mass of 
crumbling palaces ; a little farther off rose the mighty 
wall of the Coliseum, where the gladiators used to 
fight, and where so many Christian martyrs were 
thrown to the wild beasts while tens of thousands of 
their fellow-men, more cruel than lions, looked on, for 
sport. 

Just at the roots of the Capitoline, close by, though 
out of sight, was the Mamertine Prison, where St. Paul, 
of wliom the world was not worthy, was once shut up 
in the dismal darkness of the dungeon. 

As we went from the garden back to the Pi- 
azza di Campidoglio, we saw something unusual 
was going on in the palace on the left of the capital. 
In the door stood a guard in resplendent array of crim- 



ll Santissimo Bambino. 

son and gold lace. Looking through tlie arched en- 
trance, we could see in the inner court an open carriage 
with driver and footman in livery of bright scarlet. 
Something of a crowd was gathering in the corridors. 
We stopped to learn what it was all about. An Italian 
woman answered, " La Principessa Margarita ! " and 
an English lady close by explained that the Princess 
Margaret, wife of the crown prince, had come to dis- 
tribute prizes to the children of the public schools. 
Only invited guests could be present, but the people 
were waiting to see her come down. So we joined the 
people and waited also. 

It was a long time and a pretty cold one. A brass 
band in the court cheered our spirits now and then. 
The fine span of the princess looked rather excited, at 
first, by the trumpets so close to their ears, but they 
stood their ground bravely. If one of the scarlet 
footmen tightened a buckle, it raised our hopes that 
his mistress was coming ; the other put a fresh cigar 
in his mouth, and they sank. 

Meantime the guard in the gold-laced crimson coat 
and yellow silk stockings paced up and down. At 
length there was a messenger from above ; the royal 
carriage drove under the arch close to us. There was 
a rustle, and down came the priricely lady, dressed in 
purple velvet, with mauve feathers in her hat, a white 



H Santissimo Bambino. 

veil drawn over her face, and a large bouquet in her 
white-gloved hand — rather pretty, and very graceful. 
Before entering her carriage, she turned to shake 
hands with the ladies and gentlemen who had accom- 
panied her. She was very complaisant, bowing low"i 
to them, and they still lower to her. Then she bowed 
graciously to the crowd right and left, and they re- 
sponded gratefully. She smiled upon them, high and 
low, but there was a look in her face, as it passed close 
to me, as if she was tired of smiling for the public. 
She seated herself in the carriage ; the lady-in-waiting 
took her place beside her, the gentleman-in-waiting 
threw over them the carriage-robe of white ermine 
lined with light blue velvet and stepped in himself. 

Then the equipage rolled off, the scarlet footmen 
getting up behind as it started. This princess is very 
good and kind, greatly beloved by the people, and, as 
there is no queen, she is the first lady in the kingdom. 
Her husband first and her little son next are heirs to 
the crown. 

This show being over, we hastened back to the 
church, fearing we had missed the Bambino in our 
pursuit of the princess. But we were in good time. 
On the side of the church opposite the tableau was a 
small, temporary platform. Little boys and girls were 
placed upon this, one after the other, to speak short 
pieces or recite verses about the Infant Christ. It 



n Santissimo Bambino. 

was a kind of Sunday-school concert in Italian. The 
language is very sweet in a child's mouth. There 
were a great many bright, black-eyed children in the 
church, and most of them seemed to have brought 
their Christmas presents along with them, as if to 
show them to the Bambino. 

There were ragged men in the crowd, and monks, 
and country-women with handkerchiefs tied over their 
heads for bonnets. One of them who stood near me 
had her first finger covered with rings up to the last 
joint. That is their great ambition in the way of 
dress. 

At length the organ ceased playing, and the notes 
of a military band were heard. Then we saw a ban- 
ner moving slowly down one of the aisles, followed by 
a train of lighted tapers. Over the heads of the peo- 
ple we could only see the banner and the lights ; they 
passed down and paused to take the Bambino. Then 
they marched slowly all around the church — people 
falling on their knees as they passed by. 

Out at the front door they went, and that sacred 
image was held high aloft, so that all the people on 
the great stairway and in the square below might get 
a sight of it, and be blessed. Then up the middle of 
the church they came, to the high altar. This was 
our chance to see them perfectly. 

i^lrst the banner with the image of the Virgin on it 



H Santissimo Bambino. 

was borne by a young priest dressed in a long black 
robe and a white short gown trimmed with lace ; next 
came a long procession of men in ordinary dress, car- 
rying long and large wax candles, which they had a 
disagreeable habit of dripping as they went along. 

" Servants of great houses," remarked a lady behind 
me. 

" They used to come themselves," answered another. 

Then followed Franciscan monks in their brown 
copes, each with a knotted rope for a girdle, and san- 
dals only on his bare feet. After these came the 
band of musicians, all little boys ; and now ap- 
proached, with measured tread, three priests in rich 
robes of white brocade, enriched with silver. The 
middle one, a tall, venerable-looking man, with hoary 
hair and solemn countenance, held erect in his hands 
the sacred dolly. As it passed, believers dropped 
upon their knees. When he reached the high altar, 
he reverently kissed its feet, and delivered it to its 
custodian to be carried to the Sacristy ! 




CHILDREN UNDER THE 
SNOW. 

FAR away up in the north, on the shores of that 
great frozen ocean lying beyond Europe and 
Asia, you may sometimes catch sight (as I did once) 
of a huge, gray, pointed thing, standing all alone in 
the midst of the snowy plain, just like an immense 
pear with the stalk upward. I should have been puz- 
zled had I not seen a thin curl of smoke creeping 
from the top of it ; but f^af let me into the secret. 
This queer-looking thing was a Samoiede tent ! 

The tent of a Samoiede is almost as simple an 
affair as that of an Arab. All you have to do is to 
plant a dozen long poles in the ground, slanted so as 
to let their tops meet; cover this framework with rein- 
deer skins, leaving a hole at the top to let out the 
smoke ; pile the snow high up around the lower part 
to keep off the wind — the " house " is complete. 



Children Under the Snow, 

But, outlandish as it looks, this little burrow is 
worth something in a real Russian frost, which 
freezes the very breath on one's moustache ; so I go 
right up to the door^ (which is simply a thick skin 
hanging over a hole in the side,) lift it, and step in. 

The inside is certainly warm enough — rather too 
warm, in fact, being almost as hot and choky as a 
bake-house. There is a fire burning in the middle, 
the smoke going anywhere and everywhere ; and 
beside it sat three things, (one can hardly call them 
human figures) one a deal larger than the other two. 

There being no light but the glare of the fire, it is 
not easy for me to see where I am going ; and the 
first thing I do is to stumble over something which 
seems like a skin bag, unusually full. But it is not — it 
is a child, wrapped or rather tied up in a huge cloak of 
deer-skin, and rolling about the floor like a ball. 

In these out-of-the-way places, where a man may 
go for days without seeing a human face except his 
own, people call upon each other without waiting to 
be introduced \ and my sudden entrance does not 
seem to disturb my new friends in the least. They 
greet me cordially enough, and bid me welcome in 
Russian, which most of the Samoiedes speak a little ; 
and, seating myself on a chest, I look about me. 

As my eyes get used to the half-light, I see that the 



Children Under the Snow. 

group by the fire consists of a woman and two little 
girls, muffled in skins from head to foot. Papa is 
away somewhere with his sledge and his reindeer, 
leaving mamma to mind the house and take care of 
the children. Funny little things they are, with great 
round heads, and dark-brown skins, and small, rest- 
less black eyes, and faces as flat as if somebody had 
sat down upon them j but, queer as they look, they 
have learned to make themselves useful already, for 
they are hard at work stitching their own clothes. 
They are not a bit shy, and in another minute I have 
them scrambling up into my lap, and wondering at 
the ticking of my watch, which I take out to show 
them, while they clap their hands and shout '■'' Pai, 
pai/" which is their word for "good." 

The tent is not a very large one, but every inch of 
its space has certainly been made the most of. The 
floor is carpeted with thick sheets of gray felt, and 
littered with chests, sacks, baskets, bark shoes, and 
bits of harness ; while hanging from the tent poles, 
or thrust into the folds of the skins that cover them, 
are a 'perfect museum of things of every sort — caps, 
pouches, fish-spears, knives, hatchets, whips — and 
last, but certainly not least, the face of a baby, which 
has been thrust into a kind of pocket in the skin, like 
a knife into the sheath. I stoop to stroke the little 



Cliildrch Under the. Snow. 

brown face, while the round eyes stare wonderingly 
at me out of the folds of the skin. 

Meanwhile the lady of the house (or rather tent) 
hospitable like all Samoiedes, hastens to set before 
me some black bread mixed with bark, and a lump of 
terrifically strong cheese, made of reindeer milk. 

The reindeer supplies the Samoiedes with plenty 
of other things beside cheese ; indeed, almost every- 
thing that they have got comes from // in some form 
or other. They eat reindeer meat, they drink rein- 
deer milk ; their fish-spears are tipped with reindeer 
horn ; their clothes, and the very tents in which they 
live, are made of reindeer skin \ the needles where- 
with they stitch them are of reindeer bone, and the 
thread of reindeer sinew ; and when they wish to 
move from place to place, it is the reindeer that draws 
them along — the Samoiede would be as badly ofif 
without his reindeer, as the Arab without his camel. 



THE JEWELLED TOMB. 



WOULD the youthful readers of this volume like 
to hear about the most beautiful tomb in 
the world ? 

It is in the city of Agra in India, on the other side 
of the globe. When Boston children are eating their 
lunch or playing in the sunshine at noon-recess, it is 
midnight in India. It is so hot there that if anyone 
happened to be awake, he would probably be fanning 
himself and looking out of the window up at the stars 
which are bigger and brighter than in New England, or 
down at the gardens where hundreds of great fire- 
flies dart and whirl as if it were Fourth of July with- 
out the noise. 

The Jewelled Tomb was built about the time when 
your great-great-grandfathers first came to Plymouth, 



The yewelied Tomb. 

You know how cold and bleak they found it — the 
winds were stinging, the earth covered with ice and 
snow, storms were on the sea and savages on the 
shore. The Pilgrims made no grand tombs there ; 
they dared not even pile up leaves to mark their 
graves as the robins did over the Babes in the Wood, 
but buried their dead in wheat-fields to be hid by the 
waving grain. They feared the Indians, watching to 
murder and scalp them, would come at night, count 
the graves and learn how few were left alive. 
SHAH-Jehan, the Mogul Emperor, built the Jewelled 
Tomb. His name means King of the World, because 
he ruled over so many people. Jewels were like the 
sand of the sea to him, he owned so many. The 
Koh-i-noor, " the mountain of light," was his, and 
there is but one larger diamond in the world. The 
Brahmins say that the owner of the Kohi-noor will 
always be ruler of India. 

Shah Jehan's soldiers and slaves could not be 
counted, and there seemed no end of his cities and 
palaces. One of the oldest establishments in his 
dominion was a hospital for sick monkeys, where 
kind nurses took care of the little mimics, cured or 
made them comfortable, while they jabbered and 
screeched to their hearts' content, snatched the med- 
icine or choice Iruits from their keepers, and plagued 



The yewelled Tomb. 

each other like wizened spoilt children. But the 
great Mogiri did not care so much for the health of 
his subjects — he had so many it did not seem worth 
while. 

He was very fond of elephant fights, and used to 
sit in a balcony overlooking the space between his 
palace and the river Jumna to watch them. Some- 
times a maddened elephant had to be driven by fire- 
works into the river and drowned to prevent its 
trampling to death the whole crowd which had no 
balcony to see from. So many riders were killed in 
the sport, that one would often kiss his wife and chil- 
dren, saying, " Good-by, you may never see me again 
— I am going to amuse the Emperor — we have an 
elephant fight to-day." Shah-Jehan enjoyed this spec- 
tacle whether his subjects were killed or not. His 
balcony was hung with rich Persian silks. Diamonds 
and riches shone in his turban and sparkled on his 
breast. Every time he moved, his jewels threw rain- 
bows over the crowd and often into the eyes of the 
combatants. 

He had a plan of making a trellis over this bal- 
cony. The grapes were to be amethysts, the leaves 
emeralds, and the stalks pure gold. But one morn- 
ing the head goldsmith came to him, saying : " May 
it please your Majesty, your trellis will take all the 



The Jewelled Tomb. 

emeralds and amethysts in the world." 

For once in his life Shah-Jehan gave up his whim- 
and only one bunch of grapes was ever finished. 

This monarch loved power and splendor, but more 
than all he loved his wife Moomtazee, She was the 
niece of the famous Noor Mahal, and was caJIed the 
most beautiful woman in the world, and was good as 
she was beautiful. " Light of the World," " Pearl of 
Women," " Crown of Delight," were some of the 
names her husband gave her. For hours he would 
sit by her side in his palace garden, on seats made 
soft by cashmere shawls, finer than any that ever 
crossed the ocean. They listened to the murmur of 
the river ; they watched the pink lilies, as large as 
christening cups, that floated on its waves. Great 
leaves and wonderful flowers, such as we see only in 
conservatories, bent their heads beneath the spray of 
the fountains. There are few singing birds in that 
land, but from musicians, hidden behind the trees, 
came melodies which mingled with the sound of rip- 
pling waters. 

All this was real, and not a story from the Arabian 
Nights. 

One evening when the glow-worms had lit their 
lamps under every bush, the Mogul and his Empress 
were in the garden. Their eldest daughter, best 



The jfewelled Tomb. 

beloved of his children because she most resembled 
her mother, was playing at their feet. 

"Dearest Queen," exclaimed Shah-Jehan, "here 
are some flowers that I have just plucked. How 
happy should I be if you could not die ! You are 
lovely as these roses, and I fear some day you will 
fade as they do. Allah allows a little worm to 
destroy a shawl that it has taken a life-time to make 
— if some unseen enemy should take your life, there 
would be nothing left me but a kingdom whose sun 
had set." 

The Queen replied : " I will never leave this earth 
as long as Allah will let me stay." 

" Jehanara," she continued to her daughter, "if the 
Angel of Death should take me from your father, 
comfort and watch over him, and be all that your 
mother is to the great and good Emperor." 

"Promise, my lord," she said, "if I should die, 
never to marry again ; and place a tomb over my 
grave, grand as a palace, and beautiful as these flow- 
ers covered with diamond dew, that the whole world 
may know how the greatest of earthly monarchs loved 
his Moomtazee Mahal." 

"I promise," said her husband, with trembling 
voice, " if you should leave me, no one shall ever fill 
your place, and the world has never seen so grand a 



The yewellcd Tomb. 

monument as I will raise over the loveliest of women.'' 

Soon after the Queen became ill. The Emperoi 
was distracted when she said to him, "Remember my 
two requests ; now I must leave you." 

All the doctors and wise men in the Kingdom were 
summoned, but they were so afraid their heads would 
be cut off, they did not know what to do ; they sug- 
gested so many things that of course the poor Queen 
stood very little chance. All the love and power of 
her husband could not save her any more than if she 
had been the wife of her meanest slave. 

She died — the palace was dumb with grief. No 
official dared to speak to the Emperor and tell him of 
his loss. Jehanara put her arms softly around her 
father's neck and sobbed into his ear, " The Light of 
the World has gone out." 

The funeral was scarcely over, when Shah-Jehan 
began to build the tomb of his wife. 

In our country when we think of a monument, it 
is a granite shaft or a marble block ; we place it in a 
cemetery, and plant vines and trees around it. In 
commemoration of many great and good men we 
sometimes build a high monument — like that on 
Ijunker Hill — where we can climb to the top and 
look over the conntry, telling each other how grand 
the nation has become because of the patriots 



The ycwdlcd Tomb. 

beneath us who gave their Hves for our liberty. 

But ill India, diamonds are dug out of the earth, 
precious stones filtered from streams, and pearls 
fished from the seas. Every thought of nature is a 
jewel, and glitters in the sunshine. The beetles are 
living gems ; the orange lizards that peep from under 
the stones show neck-laces of brilliants. It is the 
land of peacocks, whose gorgeous eyes repeat in the 
sunlight all the wonders under ground. No gold- 
smith can make such dazzling colors as the butter- 
flies carry through the air. So when the Emperor 
would build a mausoleum to the Pearl of Women, he 
adorned it with the most splendid gems that ever 
shone even in that Land of Jewels. 

Shah-Jehan had been collecting precious stones all 
his life ; but though he already had a greater number 
than any one else in the world, he ransacked all 
countries for more and finer gems to adorn his work. 

He brought the most skillful architects from France 
and Italy. The chief of them was Austin de 
Bordeaux, named the Jewel-handed. 

Seeds planted in the garden round the edifice 
grew to be tall trees, and children who had watched the 
levelling of ihe great platform became middle-aged 
men and women before the dome -was finished. 
Twenty thousand workmen went home every night, 



The jfeweUed Tomb. 

year after year, always telling their families how par- 
ticular the Emperor was that every stone should be 
placed right, till at last they grew grey-headed — for 
it took twenty-two years of hard work to build the 
tomb. 

I cannot tell you how many millions it cost — there 
are so many different estimates given — it were as 
easy to tell the majorities on election night. But all 
agree that it cost an enormous sum. 

Nothing interested Shah-Jehan but this tomb of 
his beautiful wife. It stood on the river Jumna in a 
garden two-thirds as large as Boston Common, and 
was surrounded by a red sand-stone wall high as 
the roof of most houses. The Emperor used to sit 
in one of the arcades on the inner side of this wall 
and watch the progress of the building. Careless of 
the terraced garden with its paths of variegated mar- 
ble and its eighty fountains throwing diamonds into 
the air, regardless of the two mosques where Mussul- 
men go to pray, his eye was always fastened upon the 
dazzling structure which rose above all and gleamed 
like a mountain of snow against the blue sky. 

At length the Taje Mahal, the " Crown of Edifices," 
was completed. Let us visit it. On the side oppo- 
site the river we pass the wall through the grand red 
gate-way. It seems to be ornamented with garlands, 



The yewetted Tomb. 

but looking closer you observe that what we mistook 
for flowers are texts from the Koran, the Bible of 
the Mahommedans. These texts are inlaid in the 
stone, arranged in graceful lines, and illuminated 
with colored marbles. 

Passing through the garden, an avenue of Italian 
cypresses shuts us in like a pall, while a voice from 
the attendant comes out of the darkness, saying : 
" Close your eyes for a moment ; you will not die, 
but you shall see Heaven." Emerging from between 
the trees, we mount to the platform which is raised 
eighteen feet above the highest garden terrace, and 
is a square of over three hundred feet, glittering and 
polished as ice. At each corner and separate from 
the main building rises a tall slender minaret, through 
whose open carving appears the circular stairs lead- 
ing to the top. In the midst we behold the octagonal 
mausoleum, surmounted by four small cupolas around 
the centra] dome, which towers as high as Bunker 
Hill monument. 

Where we stand above the world, everything 
beneath our feet and around us is made of white 
marble. There is no tinge of color on the four min- 
arets, but within them the central pile is covered with 
delicate traceries that look like flowering vines. 
They are verses from the Koran ; every letter is 



The yewelled Tomb. 

black marble inlaid in the white, and ornamented 
with jasper, agate, cornelian and lapis-lazuli. When 
we are told that the whole sacred book is written in 
this way upon the Taje Mahal, we understand why 
the work took twenty years. 

There is an entrance north, south, east and west. 
Crossing the threshold of either, we see that the vast 
interior is divided into several apartments. Beneath 
each of the four small domes is a separate enclosure. 
Under the central dome an octagonal space is shut 
in by colonades roofed with arches. High above 
you, in the very centre of this great dome, flashes a 
golden ornament like a constellation of stars. The 
floor, the walls, the columns, the ceiling, all are of 
glistening white marble. About sevent3'-five feet from 
the floor a carved trellis-work around the base of the 
dome lights the place, and shows the whole interior 
to be a mosaic of texts. They are made of black 
letters ; not straight like those in a printed book, but 
twisted like the tendrils of a vine ; and in this central 
and more sacred chamber, precious stones of every 
color gleam and sparkle around the words as if from 
a thorny stem gay flowers had sprung on every side. 
The buds and leaves look so natural as to deceive 
the eye. You wonder if the whole building has been 
decorated for a .victory j if those are garlands of 



The yewelled Tomb. 

evergreens and flowers that cross the arches, drip ovei 
the freizes, interlace each other and almost wave in the 
breeze — and if they are for a Christmas festival ? 

The great Mogul placed them on these walls, and 
they are enduring as his love. 

You seem to look at banks of snow overspread 
with wreaths of flowers which the sun, streaming 
through the high trellised windows, transforms into 
foaming cataracts falling from the sky, while braided 
rainbows flash and dance on their waves. 

On the floor, under the dome, is an octagonal 
screen, higher than a tall man, and made of marble 
as delicately wrought as a veil of lace. It is bor- 
dered with lilies, tulips and roses, made of precious 
stones. Within this screen, beneath the centre of the 
dome, is a slab of marble six feet in length. 

The poor mother covers her darling's grave with 
flowers — all she can give ; they fade, and she still 
keeps fresh tokens there. The flowers the great 
Mogul placed on the grave of his Queen were made 
of the most costly jewels. The finest rubies that he 
had searched the world to procure, glowed in a rose 
near the head, close by an emerald lotus leaf covered 
with diamond spray. Texts from the Koran, always 
in black letters, form an inlaid back ground of 
thorns for the flowers. Mahometans believe these 



The yewelled Tomb. 

texts make the grave more sacred, and are a charm 
to preserve it from injury. On the end of the slab 
next the door are conspicuous the words, " Deliver 
us from the tribe of unbelievers." 

No royal lady's brooch was ever of more delicate 
workmanship than this casket of jewels. It glitters 
in the marble hall like a clustre of diamonds on a 
robe of white satin. Sparks of light dart on the 
screen, kindle the tracery into fire ; tongues of flame 
speak on the floor ; points of vivid light live all over 
the building and transfigure it into glory. 

In a vault below tbis great hall, and just under the 
precious slab. Queen Moomtazee is buried. A lamp 
is always burning over her tomb, and a priest, whose 
white beard falls below his waist, chants from the 
Koran. A strange echo repeats his voice back and 
forth in the church above, till it seems to linger in 
the lofty dome, where an invisible choir whisper his 
words before they take flight to Heaven. 

Shah-Jehan never married again. The tomb for 
his wife so occupied his thoughts that he did not 
know that the greatest empire in the world was slip- 
ping away from him. The Princess Jehanara kept 
her promise to her mother. Father and daughter 
daily laid fresh flowers on the jewelled slab in the 
Taje Mahal, and the starry roses watched the frail, 



The jewelled Tomb. 

living ones close their eyes and droop, while their 
own petals never faded. 

The kingly mourner was dethroned by his crafty, 
cruel son, Aurengzebe, who became Emperor, and 
imprisoned his father in the very palace from which 
he used to watcli the elephant fights. He had no 
solace in confinement but his faithful daughter. 
Every day he looked with infinite longing at the min- 
arets of the mausoleum. He could see the dome 
which rose high above the grave of his Queen, but 
he could never lay a flower there. For eight years 
he could see the outside of his master-piece of archi- 
tecture, but never again did his eyes behold the 
jewelled grave, which is the central thought, the 
heart of the Taje Mahal. 

The Moguls no longer rule in the East. The 
Koh-i-noor, the ransom of a royal captive, belongs to 
Queen Victoria — the Empress of India. 

The different conquerors of that country have 
destroyed many a marble palace, burnt many a beau- 
tiful city j but all of them, even the furious Sepoys, 
have left unharmed the Taje Mahal — the jewelled 
wonder, and it stands to-day in its perfect glory — 
the monument raised by the love of an Eastern 
despot to his beautiful wife. 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOY- 
TON. 

'' I ^ELL me, what was the oddest experience you 
■*- ever had ? " said a friend of mine one day, 
upon the cars going West. 

I had been " spinning yarns " to him, as the sailors 
say, for the last hundred miles of our journey, con- 
cerning a variety of queer happenings met with in 
the life of a journalistic Free-lance during the past 
ten years. 

" Well, now, that's a hard question to answer," 
said I : " give me five minutes to think. Let's see 
— did I ever tell you about my cruise with Paul 
Boyton ? " 

Paul Boyton is the man, you know, with the rubber 
life-saving rig; has rescued lots of people from 
drowning ; floated down most of the rivers of Europe 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

and a good many in this country. My night's trip 
with him was about the strangest adventure that I 
could recall. 

I first met Boyton at one of the towns upon the 
St. John's river in Florida. We were having a 
game of billiards together, when some whim prompted 
me to say : 

"Mr. Boyton, I'd like to take a cruise Mith you 
sometime." 

To my surprise, and perhaps not exactly to my 
liking, he at once assented. 

" Why, that's easily done. I always have a spare 
suit along. We can go to-morrow, if you like/' 

Several of my acquaintances were within hear- 
ing, and I saw they M'ould have a laugh at my ex- 
pense if I backed down; so I responded with equal 
promptitude : 

^'All right, just count me in; but say, I don't 
want to leave from here. The whole town will be 
down at the wharf watching me floating about like 
a sick turtle. That would never do." 

" Oh," said the jolly captain, " I'll fix that. You 
shall have a paddle, and when 370U are tired I'll tow 




PAUL BOYTON. 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL IJOYTON. 

you ; besides, we will start after dark if you want to . 
we can go down with the tide. It will be running out 
at a lively rate about then," 

Now I had no notion 1 would be taken up so sud- 
denly by Captain Boyton ; and although I did my best 
to look happy at the prospect, I am afraid it was a 
sorry effort. 

A man in Texas described to me, once, his feelings 
after engaging to fight a duel ; and I suppose that my 
sensations and reflections were, during the succeeding 
twenty-four hours, not unlike his. I lay in bed that 
night and thought of the watery couch that had been 
chosen foi: my next resting-place. 

It was a long, very long night, full of forebodings 
and regrets. In the morning the clerk of the hotel 
kindly inquired if I wished my eiTects sent home by 
express, or detained until my friends could arrive " for 
the body ; " the folks at the breakfast-table rallied 
me about it; and some of my acquaintances made 
bets that I would back out. When I went down 
the main street it seemed as though every one was 
i^ointing a finger at me, with a look that said 
plainly 3 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

" That's the fellow that's going to commit suicide 
to-night ! " 

It was about half-past six in the evening when we 
emerged from a building close beside the water, the 
captain leading, and his victim, as he humorously 
called me, following close behind, escorted by a sin- 
gle lantern and a group of friends. The lantern cast 
a gloomy ray out upon the black surface of the river, 
and gave the two principal figures in their rubber 
disguises the aspect of some fabled amphibious mon- 
sters. 

The suits were made in two parts, joined at the 
waist by a round iron band, over which the rubber- 
cloth was so well secured as to be quite water-tight. 
The head was covered by a hood, concealing all but 
the eyes, mouth, and nose. In the back of the head- 
piece there was an air-chamber, which, when filled, 
gave the voyager a very comfortable pillow. Along 
the sides were two more large air-chambers, and still 
a couple below, to support the legs. 

Just as soon as we were in, or rather upon, the 
water, all sense of trepidation vanished. As the tide 
drifted us away from the noisy group upon the wharf 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

and into the darkness, I was able to wave my paddle 
and re»ly to their repartee right heartily. I felt quite 
happy a.i the novelty of the thing ; but wait — one of 
the boys shouts : 

" Look out as you pass the point. I saw a big 
''gator' there yesterday. Keep towards the mid- 
dle ! " 

Alligators ! I hadn't, in all my wild forebodings, 
taken them into consideration. A creepy sensation 
pervaded my back and travelled down to my toes. 
"What if — oh! I wish he hadn't shouted that," 
thought I. 

" Well, at any rate the captain's ahead ; they'll 
get him first, and maybe I'll have a chance while 
they are lunching from him ! " So I turned around 
and remarked casually : 

" I guess, Cap. you had better keep a little ahead. 
You know the way better than I do ! " 

But somehow the captain had disappeared. I 
shouted, and paddled rapidly in the direction I sup- 
posed him to be. No answer ! 

" I believe the alligators have got him already," 
thought I ; and you should have seen the way that 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

paddle went through the water, driving me back to* 
ward the distant wharf where the lantern still twinkled. 
My foot encountered something. 

Oh, horrors ! what a yell I gave ! You can wager 
that brief second will never be forgotten. No, sir! 
But it was only a stray log ; and just then the cap- 
tain's merry laugh resounded over the water close at 
hand, as he came floating toward me, delighted with 
the success of his trick ; and he began to sing a song 
of his own composing, improvising the music and 
splashing his paddle in time to his melody : 

" I'll take my sleep on the rolling deep, 
Your downy couch let others keejD ; 
My paddle true will guide me through, 
My life-garb is better than any canoe ; — 
Whoop! hurrah! yes, than any canoe ! " 

The echoes of the refrain died away among the 
woods of the far opposite shore, startling a brood 
of wild fowl from their rest in the sedge of the 
bayou. 

Now the captain turned and said, " Let's give 'em a 
rocket ! " 

I have forgotten to tell you that the captain had in 




I'fii 1 I "i '«,ii ■ wr* 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTOIJ. 

tow a miniature craft, which he fondly called Baby 
Mine. It was made of tin, and was altogether a 
miraculous sort of boat, as I soon discovered, for it 
held all sorts of things one might want for comfort 
upon or in the water. 

Baby Mine was entirely decked in, having a tin 
" hatch," into which the captain put his hand and 
produced a small lamp, which was fitted to a groove 
in the bows. This was lighted by means of matches, 
and a rocket next appeared. The latter was fixed 
in an upright position upon Baby Mine. The cap- 
tain held the boat with one hand and touched off the 
rocket with the other. 

Whiz-z-z-z-z ! 

And away it sped into the black sky above, and then : 

Bang ! 

A myriad of tiny sparkles flew outward and then 
fell slowly, streaking the sky for a moment with a rain- 
bow of fire. We could see in the pallid light the 
group that still lingered upon the wharf, half a 
mile away. 

" Now," said Boyton, " let's have a little stage 
effect." 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

So he took from the interior of Baby Mine a tin 
saucer and a wooden float, as well as some powder 
in a small bottle. He poured a little of the latter 
upon the dish and set it upon the float. A match was 
applied to a short fuse. As soon as ignited, the pow- 
der cast a brilliant lurid glow over the wavelets, 
and we seemed to be floating in a literal sea 
of blood. In the midst of this — shall I ever 
forget that ludicrous sight ? — was the captain, 
grimacing out of his hood like some horrid 
satyr, and wagging his two black paws like a great 
pair of ears. I can't do the subject justice. Per- 
haps you may have dreamed of some such personage 
after taking a late and too hearty supper. 

All of this time the captain had been standing up- 
right in the water, head and shoulders out, looking as 
firm as though he was upon the bottom, although I 
knew the river must be at least forty feet deep where 
we were. 

" Now you must learn how to stand," said he ; and 
after a few failures I was able to take an upright posi- 
tion or lie down at will. 

The tide had soon carried us beyond the point and 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL EOYTON. 

its fabled alligators, at which the captain laughed 
with contempt. 

" Look at this knife," cried he. " I've killed s/iarks 
with this, and wouldn't be afraid to try it on an alli- 
gator." He produced a long, peculiar Turkish blade 
from his belt, and made a lunge at an imaginary 
saurian. 

The moon had now cleared the low-hanging mists 
of the night, and we could see our course fairly well. 
Ahead of us we noticed a second point, and oh, listen ! 
out of its reeds there came the sound of some heavy 
body, -and something black moved from the shore. It 
made an ominous splashing as it came towards us. 
Even the brave captain, forgetful of his knife and 
boast, eyed it dubiously. I shook all over; the water 
seemed to have suddenly become as cold as ice. 
Just then the captain's cheerful laugh came like music 
to my ears. 

"That isn't an alligator;" he whispered, "it's a 
darkey in a dug-out. Keep quiet, and we'll have 
some fun." 

The captain quickly and silently produced his pan 
and red fire. We floated like logs on the water until 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

the boatman had ahnost reached us, a^id then a sud- 
den and unaccountable blaze sprang out of the waters 
before his horrified gaze, while two undoubted de- 
mons emerged and waved their arms towards him 
with horrid groans. 

It was enough — far more than enough. With a 
screech of terror the black man sprang from his boat 
and struck out for shore, uttering dismal entreaties 
to "good Mister Debbil" not to "ketch him yet," 
with every plunge ; and despite our calls, he broke 
through the reeds, clambered up the bank, and was 
soon lost to hearing in the dense forest. 

Sometimes, when I think of it, I wonder if that 
chap is running yet; but I guess he brought up some- 
where, for we heard soon afterwards that there was a 
great gathering of the negroes, and that one of 
their speakers had seen a couple of monsters rising 
out of the waters of the St. John's, commanding 
him to tell the people the world was coming to an 
end. 

" Now that was rather lively, hey ? " mused the cap- 
tain ; "but I'm sorry we scared him so. I wonder 
what's in his boat ? We're pirates now, to all intents 



A NIGHT WITII PAUL BOYTON. 

and purposes, and may as well take our plunder. 
A bag of potatoes — no, oranges, just what I wanted. 
No wonder he ran so — he's been into one of the 
groves over there. I wonder if it's stealing to steal 
from a thief .-' Let's have some supper. I nearly 
forgot about supper." 

A loose plank was taken from the dug-out, and out 
of the wonderful depths of Baby Mine emerged 
the following items : 

A quart bottle of cold coffee, 

A can of condensed milk, 

Some loaf-sugar, 

A tin box of cheese, 

Four biscuits, 

A pot of marmalade, 

Some chipped beef, 

A half-doz-en boiled eggs. 

Pickles, pepper and salt, 

Spoons, 

Knives, 

Tin cups, 

Etc. 

"The company will please sit down, and excuse 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON, 

the holes in the cloth, and not put their elbows on 
the table," said the jolly captain, as he held the coffee 
over the lamp while I ' set ' the table. 

" Now, here we go ! What an appetite I've got ! 
Don't lean back in your chair, my boy, one of the legs 
is gone ; you might upset. I wish that chap had 
stayed. He might have taken tea with us, at least. 
Halloo! I've struck bottom. We're right in shore. I 
guess the tide's about ebb ! " and so the merry fellow 
rattled on, taking a look at his watch, which hung 
upon some peg in the cabin of Baby Mine. 

What a surpassingly beautiful place we had drifted 
into ! A cove, surrounded upon three sides by great 
water oaks that bent their long arms down towards 
the tide, draped in sad but rich festoons of gray 
Spanish moss. The pale forms of dead cypress 
trees, swathed in wild grape-vines, leaned over, and 
fragrant magnolia branches mingled their dark and 
glossy leaves through all the fairy tracery of branch 
and palm, displayed like dark embroidery against the 
moonlit heavens. How I wished the boys could be 
there to see us now ! 

It was altogether the queerest supper I ever swal- 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

lowed. From the still well-stored depths of the tin 
boat the captain produced a cigar-case, and presently 
we reclined at ease upon our aqueous couch, waiting 
for the tide to run in again. What tales the captain told 
that night, as we lay there ! what recitals of his ad- 
ventures in other lands ; of receptions by monarchs ; 
of his famous voyage down the terrible and mys- 
terious Tagus ; of the queer people he met in 
the Spanish provinces; of his feats in Russia — 
why ! I could fill a book with them. 

About two o'clock we found ourselves drifting 
out into the river again, and were soon making 
good headway towards home. For an hour we 
paddled side by side, but my unaccustomed arms 
began to fail, and then the captain unwound a 
blue-fish line from a reel and tied it to my foot, 
so he towed me along ; and released from the 
need of action, I lay ujDon my snug air-pillow and 
watched the waning moon. 

Just as the early tints began to paint the eastern 
sky, foretelling the coming of sunrise (will you believe 
me ?), I actually fell asleep. 

When I aroused myself it was quite light and we 



A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON. 

were passing the last point; and there, upon a 
log, lay stretched out my friend's alligator, gazing 
sleepily at us, but never deigning to move. 

I wonder if he realized what a dainty meal he 
might have had I 



BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED 
SEA. 

T TERE we are at last, Mr. Ker," says the captain, 
-'--'- as we cast anchor off the coast of Arabia, a 
little after sunset, about two-thirds clown the Red Sea. 
'' It's too dark to make out much to-night, but you'll 
see a rare sight when you come on deck to-morrow 
morning." 

The w^orthy captain's mention of " coming on 
deck " is doubtless from force of habit, for neither he 
nor I have been anj'where but on deck for more than a 
week, except perhaps to look for something which we 
have left below. Most of my time is spent in the 
rigging, where what little wind there is may generally 
be met with; and our table-cloth is spread on the 
"after-hatch," while our arrangements for going to 
bed consist merely of throwing a blanket on the deck. 



BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA, 

and stretching ourselves upon it, undisturbed save by 
an occasional scamper of two or three frolicsome rats 
over our faces. 

When I awake the next morning, I find the cap- 
tain's promise amply made good. The sun is just 
rising, and under its golden splendor the broad blue 
sea stretches westward as far as eye can reach, every 
ripple tipped with living fire. On the other side ex- 
tends a sea of another kind — the gray, unending 
level of the great Arabian desert, melting dimly into 
the warm dreamy sky. In front, the low white wall 
of a Turkish fort stands out like an ivory carving 
against the hot brassy yellow of the sand-hills that 
line the shore ; while all around it are the little cabins 
of mud-plastered wickerwork that compose the Arab 
village, looking very much like hampers left behind 
by some monster picnic. Here and there, through 
the light green of the shallower water along the shore, 
a flash of dazzling white, keen and narrow as the edge 
of a sword, marks the presence of the dangerous 
coral-reefs among which we have been picking our 
way for the last three days, with the chance of run- 
ning aground at any moment. 



BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA. 

■'You were right, captain," say I, as the burly 
skipper rises and stretches his brawny arms, like a 
bear awaking from its winter nap. " This is a sight 
worth seeing, indeed." 

"Ah, this ain't what I meant," chuckles the cap- 
tain ; " the best o' the show's to come yet. Look 
over yonder — there, just 'twixt the reef and the 
shore. D'ye see anything in the water? " 

"Well, I think I see something swimming — 
sharks, I suppose." 

" Sharks, eh ? Well, /<3!«^-sharks you might call 
'em, p'raps. Take my glass and try again." 

The first look through the glass works a startling 
change. In a moment the swarm of round black 
spots which I have ignorantly taken for the backs of 
sharks, are turned into faces — the faces of Arab 
children, and (as I perceive with no little amazement) 
of very young children too, some of the smallest be- 
ing apparently not more than five or six years old! 
Our vessel is certainly not less than a mile from the 
shore, and the water, shallow as it is, is deep enough 
at any point to drown the very tallest of these adven- 
turous little " water-babies ; " yet they are evidently 



BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA. 

making for the ship, and that, too, at a speed that 
will soon bring them alongside of her. 

"Are they really coming all this way out without 
resting?" ask I. 

" Bless you, that's nothing to an Arab ! " laughs the 
captain ; "these little darkies are as much at home in 
the water as on land. I've heard folks talk a good 
deal of the way the South Sea Islanders can swim ; 
butl've seen as good swimming here as ever I saw there." 

And now, as the Lilliputian swimmers draw nearer, 
we begin to hear their shrill cries and elfish laughter; 
and now they are close enough for their little brown 
faces, and glittering teeth, and beady black eyes, to 
be easily distinguished; and now one final stroke 
of their lean sinewy arms carries them alongside, 
and the blue water swarms with tiny figures, looking 
up and waving their hands so eagerly that one might 
almost expect to hear them call out, " Shine, boss ? " 
and see them produce a brush and a pot of blacking. 
But instead of that, there is a universal chorus of 
'■'■piastre, Howadji/^' (a penny, my lord!) 

" Chuck 'em a copper, and you'll see something 
good! " says the captain, 



BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA. 

I rummage the few remaining pockets of my tattered 
white jacket, and at last unearth a Turkish piastre 
(5 cts.) which I toss into the water. Instantly the 
smooth bright surface is dappled with a forest of tiny 
brown toes, all turning upward at once, and down 
plunge the boy-divers, their supple limbs glancing 
through the clear water like a shoal of fish. 

By this time nearly all the crew are looking over 
the side, and encouraging the swimmers with lusty 
shouts ; for, used as Jack is to all sorts of queer spec- 
tacles, this is one of which he seems never to 
tire. 

" There's one of 'em got it ! " 

" No, he ain't ! " 

"Yes, he has — I see him a-comin' up with it!" 

"And there's the others a-tryin' to take it from him 
— hold tight. Sambo ! " 

Sure enough, the successful diver is surrounded 
by three or four piratical comrades, who are doing 
their best to snatch away the hard- won coin ; but he 
sticks to it like a man, and as he reaches the surface, 
holds it up to us triumphantly, and then pops it into 
his mouth — the only pocket he has got. 



BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA, 

But this is a sad mistake on his part. In a 
moment a crafty companion swims up behind him, 
and tickles him under the chin. As his mouth opens, 
out drops the coin into his assailant's hand, from 
whom it is instantly snatched by some one else ; and 
a regular bear-fight ensues in the water, which splashes 
up all around them like a fountain-jet, while their 
shouts and laughter make the air ring. 

'' Aren't they afraid of sharks ? " ask I of the cap- 
tain, who has just increased the confusion tenfold by 
throwing another copper into the very midst of the 
screaming throng, 

"Not they — they make too much row for any 
shark to come near them. Sharks are mighty easy 
scared, for all they're so savage. You'll never catch 
'em coming too near a steamer when she's goin' — 
the flappin' of the screw frightens 'em away. See, 
there's two of 'em comin' along now, and you'll just 
see how much the boys'll care for 'em." 

And, indeed, the sudden uprising of those gaunt 
black fins, piercing the smooth water as with an un- 
expected stab, seems to produce no effect whatever 
upon these fearless urchins, who paddle about as un- 



BOY-DIVERS IN THE RED SEA, 

concerned as ever. Moreover, it soon appears that 
the sharks themselves have other business to attend 
to. A shoal of flying-fish come driving past, glisten- 
ing like rainbov.'s in the dazzling sunshine as they 
leap out of the water and fall back again. Instantly 
one of the " sea-lawyers " dashes at the rear of the 
column, while the other, wheeling around its front, 
heads back the fugitives into his comrade's open 
jaws ; and in this way the two partners contrive to 
make a very respectable " haul." 

But at this moment the garrison-boat is seen putting 
off from the shore, with one of the Pasha's officers in 
the stern- sheets. At sight of the well-known official 
flag, our water-babies scatter like wild-fowl, and the 
next moment all the little black heads are seen bob- 
bing over the shining ripples on their way back to 
the shore. 



ST. BOTOLPH'S TOWN. 

T ONG time ago, there were in England, as well 
-■ — ^ as in many other countries, certain pious men 
and women who, for their eminent wisdom, charitable 
works, or lives of purity and usefulness, came to be 
called Saints. 

Among these was a Saxon monk, the Abbot of 
Ikanho, St. Botolph by name, who lived about thf-. 
middle of the seventh century. 

Botolph belonged to a noble English family. 
After having been educated at one of the religious 
houses in what was then called Belgic Gaul, he came 
back to England, and begged of King Ethelmund a 
barren spot on which to build a monastery; and 
here, on the Witham River, near the eastern coast of 
England, in what is now called Lincolnshire, he 
built his priory, and founded a town to which was 
given the name, St. Botolph's Town, 



ST. botolph's town. 

Here is what an unknown poet says of it in I ,ong- 
fellow's Poems of Places : 

"St. Botolph's Town ! — Hither across the plains 
And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb austere, 
There came a Saxon monk, and founded here 
A priory, pillaged by marauding Danes, 
So that thereof no vestige now remains ; 
Only a name, that spoken loud and clear, 
And echoed in another hemisphere, 
Survives the sculptured walls and painted panes. 
St. Botolph's Town ! — Far over leagues of land 
And leagues of sea looks forth its noble tower, 
And far around the chiming bells are heard." 

Now as the English people have a queer way of 
shortening names, as the years go on, that reminds 
one of the riddle : 

" Little Nan Etticoat has a white petticoat 
And a red nose. 
The longer she stands the shorter she grows." 

In process of time old St. Botolph's Town became 
reduced to simply Boston* 

So now you see that that "echo in another hemi- 
sphere " of St. Botolph's Town is, of course, the name 
of our own Boston, so called by its early English set- 

*St. Botolph's Bridge in Huntingdonshire is now called Bottle-Bride I 



ALL THE WORLD OVER. 

tiers in memory of the English Boston they had left 
behind them ; though, as those of you who have read 
Higginson's History know, it had at first borne the 
name of Trimountain, because of its three hills; its 
Indian name having been Mushauwomuck, shortened, 
English fashion, to Shawmut. Boston school-boys, 
never forget that the original Indian name meant 
Free-country, or Free-land ! 

The name Botolph means ^^ Boat-help;'' and so, in 
those old times St. Botolph came to be deemed the 
patron saint of mariners; and as both Bostons are 
commercial cities by the sea, it is eminently appropri- 
ate that they should bear the old Boat-helper's name. 
Perhaps, too, that is why "Simon Kempthorn, 
Mariner," in Longfellow's New England Tragedy of 
John Endicott, cries out, when a fire is kindled in 
Boston's Market Place, in the year 1656, to burn the 
religious books of the persecuted Quakers : 

" Rain, rain, rain, 
Bones of St. Botolph, and put out this fire 1 " 

(Would not that quotation make a capital motto for 
a Boston Fire Company!) 



ST. BOTOLPH S TOWN. 

The English Boston has a high church-tower, one 
of the most beautiful in England, 

** The loftiest tower of Britain's isle, 
In valley or on steep." 

It resembles the tower of Antwerp Cathedral, and 
is crowned by a beautiful octagonal lantern, that can 
be seen forty miles off. It serves, therefore, as a 
landmark for seamen. 

Another poet in Poems of Places says : 

" Beneath that lordly tower 
A simple chapel stands, 
In days long gone it caught the sound 
Of Cotton's earnest tongue." 

For the Reverend John Cotton, one of Boston's 
earliest ministers, came from Boston, England ; and it 
is of him that " Norton " says, in the Tragedy of John 
Endicott: 

" The lantern of St. Botolph's ceased to burn 
When from the portals of that church he came 
To be a burning and a shining light 
Here in the wilderness." 



ALL THE WORLD OVER. 

And now I have to tell you of what seems to me a 
pleasing and surprising coincidence : 

In the Catholic calendar each saint has his special 
day; thus, you know we have St. Valentine's Day, on 
Feb. 14th, when you send the pretty valentines; St. 
Patrick's Day, March 17th, when our Irish citizens 
march in processions, " wearing of the green ; " 
St. John's Day, June 24th, when the Canadians 
among us make wreaths and garlands of the fresh 
young maple-leaves, because the maple is the Cana- 
dian emblem. Now it so happens that St. Botolph's 
Day is, of all days in the year for the American 
Boston's patron saint — what do you think? The 
Seventeenth of June! 

That Seventeenth of June, when Boston puts on 
her very best gala dress, when the bells all ring, and 
the Fire Companies form into processions, and the 
Military march, and the orators make speeches, and 
the children sing, and the great organ makes grand 
patriotic music, and the stars and stripes are flung to 
the "Boston east-winds," and the holiday is a jolly 
day! 

Now do not you agree with me that we have found 



ST. BOTOLPH S TOWN. 

a delightful triple coincidence, in that Boston's great 
holiday is Bunker Hill Day; and Bunker Hill Day is 
the Seventeenth of June; and the Seventeenth of 
June is old St. Botolph's Day? 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

'T^HE queerest people in this country, I fancy, live 
-■- clown in the southern part of the Blue Ridge 
where that magnificent range of mountains passes 
through the northern parts of both Carolinas and of 
Georgia. Even their houses are small and queer, and 
all their tools and machinery of the most primitive 
description. 

The farm-houses through the mountains are made 
of logs, and, as the weather is not usually very cold, 
the chinking of mud and chips between the logs is 
very likely to fall out and be only half replaced, so 
that in the storms of winter, they must be comfortless 
abodes ; but, as I said, the cold comes mainly in the 
shape of sudden storms after which there is a warm 
spell. You remember, that when the stranger asked 
Kit, the famous " Arkansas Traveller," why he didn't 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

patch the hole in his roof, he answered " that it had 
been so all-fired rainy he couldn't." 

" But why don't you now that it doesn't rain ? " 
" Because now it don't leak ! " cried Kit triumph- 
antly, and went on with his fiddling. 

Well, that is a very good example of the spirit 
which builds these houses and tries to keep them — 
not in repair exactly, but at least upright. I am 
speaking of the ordinary farm-houses in the mountains. 
Now and then you will see more snug and pretentious 
ones, but not often even among men who own several 
hundred acres of land and a large number of cows, 
horses and sheep. Sometimes they build two log huts 
pretty close together, and roof over the space between, 
making an open hall-way or store-shed, where saddles, 
and dried fruit are hung, and where all sorts of 
things are placed out of the rain or sun. In nearly 
every case, too, the roof of the front side of the house 
is continued out into a broad shed, where benches 
are placed, and half the household work is done 
I have often seen the loom upon which they wove 
their homespun clothes filling up half the space in 
this broad porch, and shaded by masses of morning 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

glory, Virginia creeper or columbine. A low log 
house with one of these long-roofed porches reminds 
one of a man with a slouched hat pulled down over 
his eyes. 

Whether the house is large or small ; such as I 
have described or better than that ; you will be sure 
to see the chimney wholly on the outside. It stands 
at the end of the house, and is a huge pile of stone 
set in mortar or perhaps only a conglomerate of 
sticks and stones and mud, half as wide as the house 
itself at the base, and then narrowing somewhat to 
the sumnjt six or eight feet above the gable. The 
great summer house of Mr. John C. Calhoun, the 
famous senator who died about twenty years ago, has 
two of these big outside chimneys made of brick ; and 
this mansion was considered a very grand one in 
its day. 

If you should go inside — and the women and 
children are very hospitable to strangers — you would 
find little evidence of what we in the north call com- 
fort. There will be one large room, serving as sit- 
ting-room, dining-room and kitchen, nearly one whole 
side of which will be given up to the vast fireplace 







■;:t\ 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

which is hollowed into the broad chimney. On the 
opposite side from the fire, perhaps, will be a little 
bedroom partitioned off, but often not, and the only 
other room in the house will be the rough boarded 
attic overhead, reached by a ladder. Lathing and 
plastering are hardly known outside the few villages, 
and carpets are still more rare. A bedstead or two, 
some splint-bottomed home-made chairs, as straight- 
backed and uncomfortable as possible, a rough table 
and some benches complete the furniture. Stoves 
are not yet known to the mountaineers. They cling 
to the old-fashioned way of cooking at the open fire- 
place, hanging the iron pot in which they boil their 
food over the fire upon a swinging iron arm fixed in 
the side of the chimney and called a "crane; " or if 
they want to roast a spare-rib of beef or pork, hang- 
ing that by a hook upon the crane, and steadily turn- 
ing it round until it is evenly done. 

Another favorite dish is the hoe-cake or corn- 
dodger, which is a batter-cake of corn-meal baked 
before the open fire, or in the bottom of the iron pot. 
Wheat flour is almost unknown in some of these 
mountain districts, cornmeal and sorghum molasses 



Some queer Americans. 

wholly taking its place. The mills where it is ground 
are the most picturesque and seemingly useless affairs. 
Every mile or so through these rough hills there 
comes tumbling down a clear and rapid stream, so 
that water-power is plenty enough for each man to 
have his own mill, and most of them are essentially 
home-made. I saw one over near the sources of 
the Chestatee which from the outside looked far more 
like a heap of old drifted logs than anything else. 
The man who ran it built the whole affair himself, 
with only an axe, a saw and a two-inch auger for 
tools. The entire running-gear was wooden, yet this 
mill had stood many years and ground all the corn of 
the neighborhood. Such machinery is slow and weak 
of course, but the people who use it have plenty of 
time. They can't understand the hurry and anxiety 
to save time which characterize their more thrifty 
neighbors who live i7i the world instead of alongside 
of it. 

A boy who was not born in the mountains, and was 
used to livelier motions, took some corn to one of 
these Georgia mills to be ground not long ago, suc- 
ceeded in waking the miller up, getting the wheel in 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

motion and his grist in the hopper. Then, expecting 
a long delay, he wandered off. But when he came 
back his meal was not half ready and he became im- 
patient. 

"My chickens — and thar ain't but two of 'em 
either — would eat meal faster'n yer mill' 11 grind it ! " 

" How long could they keep it up ? " asked the 
miller. 

"Until they starved to death," replied the smart 
boy. 

This is the only boy, however, whom I ever heard 
complain of the slowness of life there, for none of 
them are accustomed to anything faster, except when 
they are on horseback. Then the young chaps make 
the road fly from under them, and ride their fine 
horses with great spirit. On horseback is the usua/ 
method of travel, indeed, for the roads over th(,' 
mountains are exceedingly rough, and to many farms 
:here is hardly any road at all for wheels. 

One day we were riding gayly along on a couple of 
the excellent saddle-horses that are so common 
among these hills, when we came to the banks of the 
Etowah river. There was no bridge, and the road 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

led right down to the low banks, and through the 
amber-clear water we could see the tracks of the 
wagons which had crossed before us. I had heard 
of the Etowah many times as one of the most beauti- 
ful rivers of Georgia, and I am glad to pass the rep- 
utation along. I remembered, also, that in place of 
the beads of wood, soapstone and various sorts of 
shell which are dug up as the remains of some Indian 
girl's necklace, or red man's earring, on the banks of 
this river beads of pure gold had been found. The 
Indians here were rich — they had golden ornaments 
instead of shell-wampum ; but their gold proved their 
ruin, for the poor Cherokees were driven away as 
soon as their wealth was discovered and white men 
hastened to Avash the sands of this troubled rivei. 
But I did not set out to describe the gold mines, but 
oniy to show why the Etowah particularly interested 
me, and why I was glad to find it equal to its praise. 
However, I was not given much time for quiet 
delight. On the bank, by the side of the road, sat 
two lank and rough-looking Georgians with scowls 
on their faces. As w^e trotted near they rose up and 
came to meet us, \vhile one sune^ out : 




\) y^ 



J 



(jKIbT-MlLL UN THE CllESTATEE. 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

" Say, mister, can't yer set weuns acrost tha'? Weem 
ben waitin' hyar I reckon about two hours, and them 
lazy f ellars " — pointing over to where half a dozen men 
lay stretched out in the sun, smoking, with a small 
boat drawn up on the beach — " wouldn't pay no 'ten- 
tion toouryellin'. Just let goo' your stirrup will you?" 

Evidently he did not propose to lose this chance, 
for before I could move my foot he had pulled away 
the stirrup, seized the cantle of the saddle and swung 
himself behind me, astride my surprised horse. The 
other man did the same thing by my friend, and 
there we were, captured by the long arms that reached 
easily all round our waists, and had several inches to 
spare. 

"Get up," my passenger shouted, digging his heels 
into my nag's flanks in a way that started him into 
the water with a very sudden splash, and on we went. 
The river was pretty deep in the middle, but we 
picked up our feet and got safely across to where the 
smokers grinned at the trouble their lazy discourtesy 
had forced upon us, as at a good joke. Then my man 
skipped off to the ground, and sliding his hand into 
a ragged pocket, asked with a whine : 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

" What do you charge ? " 

I doubt if he had a penny about him, for he seemed 
greatly relieved when I very quickly assured him he. 
was welcome to his ferriage. 

" Do you know who those fellows were ? " asked 
my companion, as we cantered up the gravelly hill ; 
" my man told me that they were both preachers." 

" Preachers ! " I said. " I took them for moon- 
shiners at the very least." 

But now and then a vehicle so strange as to bring 
a laugh upon the faces of even the neighbors 
will come down from the backwoods. The cart will have 
only two large heavy wheels, and these alone of all 
its parts will be shojD-made. The massive axle-tree, 
and pole or shafts and the rough box were made at 
home — perhaps wholly chopped out with an axe and 
fastened together with wooden pins. You must not 
expect to see a horse or a span of horses drawing 
this odd, unpainted cart — if the owner has horses, 
he probably considers them worthy of the saddle 
only — but oxen, or an ox and cow, or only one of 
either sex ; I heard, indeed, of one case where a cow 
and a donkey were hitched up together, but that was 







A LIFT OVER THE FORD. 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

certainly extraordinary. A single cow in the traces 
makes the funniest picture, I think. The harness 
will be partly leather, partly rope, perhaps eked out 
with twisted bark, and from the horns a single thin 
rope goes back to the driver, who can thus keep his 




A MOUNTAIN CONVEYANCE. 



beast awake by frequent jerks. Sometimes when the 
mountauieer and his wife go to market they place a 
couple of splint chairs in the cart to sit on, like a 
small edition of the celebrated Florida "gondola," 
but as a rule there is no seat — to make one perma- 
"ently would be altogether too much trouble, — and 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

the man and his family all huddle together in the 
bottom of the jolting box. 

Until lately these mountain people made nearly all 
the clothes they wore. They had hand-looms which 
they built themselves, and it was the occupation of 
the women at all spare moments to spin the flax or 
the wool, to dye the yarn and weave the cloth. 
These looms are just the same rough picturesque olo' 
machines that used to be seen all over the country 
before the Revolution, but which now exist only in 
some out of the way corners, like this Blue Ridge 
region. Before the year's weaving begins the whole 
house presents a gay appearance, for from every peg 
and place where they can be hung depend brightly 
colored hanks of yarn ready for the loom. 

The ordinary dress of the men now is this tough 
homespun dyed butternut color ; nearly all the bed- 
linen and under-clothing, also, of the mountain peo- 
ple, is still made by them. But the women's calico 
dresses are bought at the village store and made after 
very wonderful patterns. The only head dress is the 
universal Shaker sun-bonnet. On Sundays, however, 
if some travelling preacher happens along and holds 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS, 



service in the tumble down meeting-house at the four 
corners, you will see black store clothes of ancient 
make, while the gayest of ribbons and flaunting 
feathers bedeck the red-cheeked and happy-hearted 
lassies. But this happens only once in four weeks 
or so, for the neighborhoods are too thinly settled and 
poor to support a steady minister. 

Though so far behind the times in all that seems 
civilized and comfortable, though so ignorant of what 
is going on in the great 
world outside of their 
blue, beautiful moun- 
tains, and so utterly un- 
learned, these moun- 
tain people are warm- 
hearted, generous, 
independent in thought 
and faithful to a friend. 
They know that they 
are strong of frame, 
and have a profound 
contempt for those 
who live outside in the lowlands, even for those who 




A MOUNTAIN LASS. 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS, 

live anywhere in towns, of the ways of which they 
know and care nothing at all. What is a man 
good for, they wonder, who can't ride a wild 
colt, or follow easily the trail of a wolf, or even 
track a bee to its tree? Even the women regard 
the men of the lower country as effeminate. A hunt- 
ing party from South Carolina were up at Mt. Jonah 
one day, when they found themselves being greatly 
laughed at by a young woman there, who proposed 
to take the largest of them on her shoulders and then 
run a foot-race ; she said she could beat them all, thus 
weighted. On another occasion this same girl was 
seen coming out of a gorge with a rifle in her hand, 
her sleeves rolled up and her arms covered with 
blood. Upon being questioned she carelessly re- 
plied that she'd " killed a bar jest beyant the Terapin ! " 
Their ignorance of town ways has been the source 
of much amusement to city people when occasionally 
some of the mountain folks stray down to Atlanta 
or Greenville. There never were any rustics so ru- 
ral, I believe. It is laughable merely to look at 
them. What would excite our respect for its strength 
and honesty on some wild hill-top, only makes them 



bUMK QUEER AMERICANS. 

doubly ridiculous in the city's strange streets. A 
good story has come down from the old days before 
railroads, on this point. 

A large party of " Hard-shell Baptists " from the 
Blue Ridge went down to Augusta, in wagons, one 
August, to buy sujDplies. While there, one of the 
brethren lost his head through drinking a glass of 
brandy which had been mixed with ice and sugar 
until it was very delicious. On his return home he 
was dealt with by the church. He freely acknowl- 
edged the fault, but said that he had been deceived 
by the "sweetnin'." The church council thereupon 
forgave him easily the w-rong of being drunk, but ex- 
pelled him for the lie he told about having ice in his 
tumbler, in midsummer, when everybody knew it was 
colder upon the mountains than down at Augusta, yet 
there was no ice ! 

But little by little this old. charmingly ignorant and 
simple mountain people, are being modernized by the 
running of railways past, if not through, their moun- 
tains, and the increased number of visitors that go to 
see their bold crags and lovely valleys. The old men 
and women still cling to their old ways. " 'Pars 



SOME QUEER AMERICANS. 

like 'twould take a power to change me," one dear 
old lady said to me. But the boys and girls are get- 
ting more " peart," are anxious to learn and see, and 
are not afraid of a little change. When the Pied- 
mont Air Line proposed to put a branch back into the 
hills toward the gold diggings around Dahlonega, I 
heard a mountain family discussing it. The daughter 
and pride of the household, a gushing damsel of 
seventeen, put in her opinion : 

" Uncle Jim saays if he was to see one of them 
railroads a cummin' he'd leave the world and take a 
saplin'. Dad saays he'd just lie right down fiat on 
the yearth. But I want 'em to come. I'd just set 
right down on a basket of cohn turned ovah, and 
clap my hands. I ain't afraid." 

Then she caught me making a note, as she thought, 
and instantly begged me to stop. 

" Some of these yere folks are right foolish," she 
said, half ashamed, " and maybe you'll make a heap 
of fun outen 'em ; but you must brush 'em up a 
powerful lot. You musn't give 'em too much of their 
nat'l appearance." 

Well, I hope I haven't ! 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

You have all heard of Rameses the Great, whose 
noble presence looms up from the black night 
of ages, majestic,. gracious, clear cut, and real almost 
as the monarchs of to-day. 

Rameses mei Amoun, as his people delighted to 
call him, meaning Rameses beloved of Amnion, 
the great god of Egypt, was born more than three 
thousand years ago, in Thebes, the capital of the 
kingdom. His father was a pharaoh, Seti I., and 
his mother was the queen Livea. Old Greek histo- 
rians tell marvellous stories concerning his birth. 
They claim that one of the gods announced to Seti 
in a dream that the tiny babe should become the 
sovereign of the whole earth. It is clear that the 
ambition of the father prompted him to do all in his 
power to secure the fulfilment of this prophecy. 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

With a royal liberality, he ordered that all of the 
male children of the realni born on the same day 
with the crown prince should be brought to the 
palace. Here nurses were provided, and they were 
reared with and educated like the young prince in all 
respects. The king believed that a company of fel- 
low students and playmates from childhood would 
be bound to him in manhood by the ties of affection, 
the best and strongest of all. They were " skilled in 
all the learning of the Egyptians," and also trained 
to feats of bodily skill, strength and endurance. Thus 
they grew up a brave company of hardy young war- 
riors, well fitted to obey and to command. 

The" stone pictures of Rameses on the monuments 
show that he was regarded as a king even in infancy, 
and received the homage of the peoiDle in his cradle. 
There are sculptures of him as a mere infant, with 
the finger to the mouth, and yet wearing the " pshent," 
or double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. Others 
are in child's dress and with the braided sidelock of 
hair, but having the Uroeus, or Asp, the symbol of 
royalty, above his head. These may be seen at the 
museum of the Louvre in Paris. 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

The inscriptions give us an address of his subjects 
to him after he had succeeded to the throne : "When 
}ou were yet a very little child, wearing the braided 
hair, no monument was made without you. You com- 
manded armies when you were ten years old." 

Seti, his father, died when he was but fifteen years 
old, and after the customary seventy days of mourn- 
ing for the king had passed and his splendid tomb 
was sacredly sealed, Rameses II. became the boy king 
of the mighty land of the Nile. 

The first public acts of his reign show a knowledge 
of human nature beyond his years. He appointed 
his young companions the generals of his armies ; he 
distributed among them lands and large gifts, and by 
every means sought to strengthen the bands of their 
loyalty to himself. For the people at large he for- 
gave all fines and penalties, and opened the doors of 
all the crowded prisons. In this way he secured the 
loving faithfulness of his subjects at home, and of the 
great armies he was to lead in long victorious marches 
through an enemy's country. Does it not read like a 
romance, that some of his boldest expeditions and 
bravest conquests were accomplished while he was 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

Still under twenty years of age? Is he not a verita- 
ble boy king ? Herodotus tells us that after Ethiopia 
and all the nations of Asia were subdued, he passed 
into Europe and conquered a few wild tribes of bar- 
barians. After each victory he erected steles, or 
tablets, inscribed with his name and that of his coun- 
try. Herodotus saw three of these tablets, and they 
have been found by travellers in our day. Two of 
them are in Palestine. Each is the figure colossal of 
a warrior, carved on a solid wall of rock, standing 
with spear in one hand and bow in the other. On 
the breast is the inscription, " It is I who have con- 
quered this country by the strength of my arm." All 
of his victories are also recorded on the stone walls 
of temples, with marvellous detail. The painted 
sculpture shows the wealth of tribute he exacted : 
gold, ivory, ebony, and timber for building his ships 
of war, the droves of dusky captives running before 
his royal chariot, arid the gods bestowing honors and 
blessing on their well-beloved son. No monarch of 
earth has left a more imperishable record on the 
pages of history than Rameses the Great. He was 
the Sesostris of the Greeks, their greatest hero. He 



THE HOY KING OF EGYPT. 

was the pharaoh whose reign was the golden age of 
power and splendor in Egypt. He was one of the 
long line who so cruelly oppressed the Israelites. 
Many of the magnificent monuments of his reign 
were builded entirely by subjugated peoples who were 
prisoners of war. This fact is carefully noted on 
tablets, and among them the " bricks without straw " 
of the captive Hebrews are largely represented. He 
is said to be the father of the princess who found the 
Jewish infant in his frail cradle of reeds. If this be 
true it was at his imperial court that Moses became 
" skilled in all the learning of the Egyptians." The 
splendid achievements of his reign attest their won- 
derful knowledge of the arts and sciences. 

On a stclce, or tablet, deciphered jointly by distin- 
guished English and French orientalists, is a detailed 
account of the boring of an artesian well by the 
special decree of Rameses. An embassage, consisting 
of the chief dignitaries of a distant province, arrived 
at the court and begged an audience with the king. 
They petitioned for a spring to supply water to the 
slaves and animals employed in bringing gold from 
a far region over a parched desert road, and who 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

they said were dying of thirst on the long journey. 
His majesty graciously had compassion on these 
his humble subjects, and in obedience to his royal 
mandate, water rose to the height of twenty feet on 
the road to Ok an. The exact height was decreed by 
his own lips, and the dry and thirsty land was re- 
freshed. The great canal from the Nile to the Red 
Sea — one of the triumphant successes of our own 
century — was first accomplished by the engineers of 
Rameses meiAmoun. The great temjDle palaces of 
Luxor and Karnak, the wonderful rock-hewn temples 
at Aboo Simbel and the Rameseum — or Memno- 
nium, as it has been wrongly called — are among the 
stupendous monuments of his reign, the latter being 
his splendid tomb. Its walls are covered with painted 
sculptures telling the wonders of his life. Chief 
among these is an episode in one of his battles with 
the Khetas, a powerful enemy, which commemorates 
the great personal bravery of the king. It is a fa- 
vorite subject of the sculptures of his time. It is 
twice given in the Rameseum and appears again three 
times in the principal temples that perpetuate the 
glories of his long reign of sixty-eight years. 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

He is represented in his chariot, furiously driven 
by his master of the horse into the midst of the 
foe, and although surrounded by the archers of the 
hostile ranks, he is dealing death with each arrow that 
flies from his strong bow, while he seems to bear a 
charmed life. The picture story of this dashing, 
reckless courage is curiously confirmed by a papyrus 
or Egyptian book in the British museum. This is an 
historical poem commemorating the battle, and writ- 
ten at the time by a court poet named Penta-ur. It 
was held in high honor by his countrymen, and was 
deemed worthy of a place on one of the walls of the 
temple palace of Karnak, where it is graven entire. 
It says," Six times the king pierced his way into the 
army of the vile Khetas, six times did he enter 
their midst . . . When my master of horse saw that 
I remained surrounded by many chariots he faltered 
and his heart gave way for fear; a mighty terror 
seized his limbs, and he cried, ' My good master, 
generous king, halt in thy course and let us save the 
breath of our lives. What can we do, O Rameses 
mei Amoun, my good master ?' And thus did his 
majesty reply: ' Have courage ! strengthen thy heart, 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 



oh my comrade ! . . . Ammon would not be a god 
did he not make glorious my countenance in the pres- 
ence of the countless legions of the foe.' " 

The portrait statues of Rameses are innumerable, 
from the delicately carved statuette to the huge frag- 
ments of the Colossus of the Rameseum, which was 
thirteen yards in height. It would seem that his 
majestic figure and gracious face can never be for- 
gotten by the race of men. 

There are sphinxes of rose-colored granite with the 
body of a lion and the noble head of Rameses. This 
combination, so familiar in Egypt, typified the union 
of physical and intellectual strength by the lion and the 
man. The far-famed sitting statues in front of the 
" Specs," or excavated rock temple at Aboo Simbel, 
are the most tremendous of these portraits. Nothing 
even in Egypt compares with these stone giants for 
grandeur and power. Their measureless, voiceless, 
eternal strength oppresses the beholder with a sense 
of utter insignificance in their mighty presence. In 
the great halls which pierce the solid mass of the 
mountain, gigantic standing figures, with folded arms 
and the calm, placid face of Rameses, seem to uphold 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

the everlasting hills. In another temple he is found 
seated between two of the gods of the land as their 
equal in the triad. In the rock temples of Aboo Sim- 
bel we find one of those strangely beautiful '' touches 
of nature ' that "make the world akin." By the 
side of the greater one, guarded by its gigantic 
wardens, there is another and smaller one, called 
the "Speos of Athor," the goddess of love and 
beauty, and the "Grotto of Purity." It was buili 
by Rameses for the sole use of his royal wife, called 
"Nofre-ari," "the good companion." The other 
temples of the country preserve the records of many 
kings. The one at Aboo Simbel is sacred to the glory 
and greatness of Rameses mei Amoun. It is by this 
one, then, that he builded the chapel for his queen 
On the wonderful front wall of the Portico are por 
trait statues of the royal lady and her children, and 
over them the legend, " Rameses, to the royal spouse, 
Nofre-ari, whom he loved.'' The adamantine stone 
has safely brought down to us the tender grace of 
this dedication. 

Travellers tell us that every detail of ornament 
in the grottoes, the pillars and their flower-like capitals, 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT. 

ihe sculpture and frescoes, are all in some way con- 
nected with the beloved wife. As a token of her 
grateful recognition of this knightly devotion, there is 
on the inner wall of the chapel, after the cartouche of 
Rameses, this answering legend : " His royal spouse, 
who loves him, Nofre-ari, the great mother, has con- 
structed this resting-place in the grotto of purity." 
Ampere, a Frerch traveller, tells us this in his letters 
from Egypt, and adds, " The queen is charming, and 
no one wearies of meeting her likeness everywhere, and 
which Pharaoh never wearies of repeating." Are not 
they beautiful, these records of an imperishable love? 
They cause the dim dusky ages that separate us from 
the time of Rameses to vanish, and we seem to feel 
the heart-throbs of the man beneath the strange royal 
robes of the Egyptian king. 

In the great ruin of the Rameseum, which a French 
scholar calls " an historical museum " of the reign 
of Rameses, near the colossus of himself was one 
nearly as large of his mother, Livea, with a triple 
crown, showing that she was the daughter, wife and 
mother of a king. In the same place were two stat- 
ues of his mother and daughter, bequeathed to the 



THE BOY KING OF EGYPT, 

world together, as they were associated in the love of 
the pharaoh. 

In another temple, where huge caryatides of himself 
supported the pylon or entrance tower, were the 
statues of his fourteen daughters. Their names have 
come down to us, but do not sound very musical to 
our modern ears. By their crowns we know that five 
of them became queens. In all of the sculpture's of 
his battles and marches, he is accompanied by some 
of his twenty-three sons. Their names are given, and 
they are known as princes by the royal dress, and by 
the braided and jewelled lock of hair which they 
wore during the lifetime of the king their father. 
By all of these touching records of the home affections 
we know that the wonderful baby king and boy war- 
rior was in his manhood a tender, loving son, husband 
and father; and this knowledge adds a purer, brighter 
lustre even to his splendid fame. 

That he reigned sixty-eight years is a fact so 
fully confirmed by data that it may be accepted 
as truth. Until the death of his eldest son, Sha- 
em-Jom, the crown prince, beloved by the peo- 
ple and dearest to his father's heart, the history 



THE BOV KING OF EGYPT. 

of these long years is one undimmed by misfor- 
tune. This occurred thirteen years before his own 
death. 

From this time the momuments give only hints of 
the frequent deaths of his children and of the feeble- 
ness and blindness of his last years. But it is not 
strange that, after eighty years of his stirring life as 
king and conqueror, the common lot of all should 
overtake even the great Rameses. 

It is a i^leasant finish to the old story to know that 
one daughter of his winter years comforted him with 
tender, filial love till the last of earth, and he went 
to his magnificent completed tomb full of years and 
honors. No mortal ever reached a dizzier height of 
fame. After more than three thousand years, in a 
far land unknown to his time and among a race then 
undreamed of, his placid, majestic face is familiar to 
every student. One of our most ambitious young 
artists could find no worthier subject for his can- 
vas, in the last salon, than a portrait of Rameses 
II. Very recently I saw in our "fair city by the 
sea," the Thebes of our country, a magnificent 
mansion, the library of which was an old Egyptian 



THE ROY KING OF EGYPT. 

hall reproduced. It abounded in lotus flowers, 
obelisks, sphinxes, winged globes and sacred bulls. 
Over thewarm-hued mantel, like the red porphyry of 
the Nile country, was a richly framed portrait of he- 
roic size. The gracious face, so calm and strong, the 
straight features, dark beard and roj^al head-dress of 
Eg)'pt, proclaimed a strange fact. Rameses the 
Great, patron of libraries and learning 1400 B. C, is 
chosen as the guardian genius of a library in our 
young western capital after three thousand two hun- 
dred and seventy-seven years. 

1 must stop before you all grow grav and wrinkled 
with groping so far back through the long night of 
ages past. But you will not soon forget the stor}- of 
the boy king of Egypt. 



A CHILD IN FLORENCE. 

CHAPTER I. 

WE lived in tliat same Casa Guidi from whose 
windows Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poet- 
eyes saw what she afterward put into glowing verse. 
Casa Guidi is a great pile of graystone, a pile of 
many windows which give upon the Via Maggio and a 
little piazza, as the squares in Florence are called. 
Consequently it is lighter and brighter than are many 
of the houses in l-'lorence, where the streets are nar- 
row and the houses lofty. 

According to almost universal custom, Casa Guidi 
was divided into half a dozen different apartments, 
occupied by as many families. Ours was on the sec- 
ond floor, on the side of the house overlooking; the 



A Child in Florence. 

piazza on which stood the cliurch of San Felice. 
The pleasantest room in our apartment, as I thought, 
was a room in which I passed many hours of an ail- 
ing childhood ; a room which I christened " The Gal- 
lery," because it was long and narrow, and was hung 
with many cheerful pictures. It opened into a little 
boudoir at one end, and into the salon at the other. 
The walls of gallery and boudoir were frescoed gayly 
with fruits and flowers and birds. 

Here the sun streamed in all through the long, 
mild, Florentine winters ; here I would lie on my 
couch, and count the roses on the walls, and the 
birds, and the apricots, and listen to the cries in the 
streets ; and, if a procession went by, hurry to the 
window and watch it pass, and stay at the window un- 
til I was tired, when I would totter back to my couch, 
and my day dreams, and my drawing, and my verse- 
making, and my attenipts at studying. 

I was fired with artist-ambitions at the age of ten ; 
and what wonder, surrounded as I was by artists liv- 
ing and dead, and by their immortal works. It 
seemed to me then that one must put all one's im- 
pressions of sight and form into- shape. But I did 
not develop well. Noses proved a stumbling-block, 
which I never overcame, to my attaining to eminence 
in figure-sketching. 



A Child in Florence. 

The picture that I admired most in those days was 
one of Judith holding up the gory head of Holofernes, 
in the Pitti Gallery of Paintings. I was seized with 
a longing to copy it, on my return from my first visit 
to the Gallery. I seated myself, one evening, before 
a sheet of drawing-paper, and I tried and tried ; but 
the nose of Holofernes was too much for me. All 
that I could accomplish was something that resembled 
an enlarged interrogation mark, and recalled Chinese 
art, as illustrated on fans. I was disapjDointed, dis- 
gusted — but, above all, surprised: it was my first 
intimation that "to do" is not " as easy as 'tis to 
know what 'twere good to do." 

In the midst of my futile efforts, a broad-shouldered, 
bearded man was announced, who having shaken 
hands with the grown-ups, came and seated himself 
beside the little girl, and her paint-box and pencils 
and care-worn face. 

" O Mr. Hart," I cried, " do make this nose for me! " 

Whereupon he made it, giving me many valuabL- 
suggestions, meanwhile, as to the effect produced by 
judicious shading. Still, I was discouraged. It was 
borne in ujDon me that this was not my branch 
of art. 

" Mr. Hart," I said, " I think I would like to make 
noses j'^wr way." 



A Child in Flora ice. 

'* Would you ? Then you shall. Come to my 
studio to-morrow, and you shall have some clay and i 
board, and try what you can do." 

So the next day I insisted upon availing myself of 
this invitation, Mr. Hart was then elaborating his 
machine for taking portraits in marble, in his studio 
in the upper part of the city. He had always several 
busts on hand, excellent likenesses. His workmen 
would be employed in cutting out the marble, while 
he molded his original thought out of the plastic clay. 
There has always been a fascination to me in statuary. 
Mr. Ruskin tells us that form appealed to the old 
Greeks more forcibly than color. That was in the 
youth of the race ; possibly, the first stage of art- 
development is an appreciation of form ; in my case, 
1 have not passed into the maturer stage yet. The 
rounded proportions, curves, and reality of a statue 
appeal to me as no painting ever did. 

Nevertheless, I made no greater progress in mold- 
ing than in sketching. I made my hands very sticky ; 
I used up several pounds of clay; then I relinquished 
my hopes of becoming a sculptor. I found it more 
to my taste to follow Mr. Hart around the rooms, to 
chatter with the workmen, to ask innumerable ques- 
tions about the " Invention." 

It has been suggested that it was to this invention 



A Child in Florence. 

of Mr. Hart's that Mrs. Browning referred when she 
wrote of — 

"Just a shadow on a wall," 

from which could be taken — 

" The measure of a man, 
Which is the measure of an angel, saith 
The apostle." 

Mr. Hart wore the apron and the cap that sculptors 
affect, as a protection from the fine, white dust that 
the marble sheds : generally, too, an ancient dressing- 
gown. Costumes in Bohemia, the native land of 
i rtists, are apt to be unconventional. 

It was a most wondrous thing to me to watch the 
brown clay take shapes and beauty under the sculp- 
tor's touch. I can still see him fashioning a wreath 
ci grape-leaves round a Bacchante's head ; the leaves 
\ Duld grow beneath his hand, in all the details of 
tendrils, stems, veuiings. It seemed to me he must 
be so happy, to live in this world of his own creating. 
I hope that he was happy, the kindly man ; he had the 
patience and the enthusiasm of the genuine artist, — 
a patience that had enabled him to surmount serious 
obstacles before he reached his present position. 
Like Powers and Rheinhart, he began life as a stone 



A Child in Florence. 

cutter. I wonder what dreams of beauty those three 
men saw imprisoned in the unhewn stone, to which 
they longed to give shape, before Fate smiled on 
them, and put them in the way of doing the best that 
in them lay ! 

In spite of the fact that neither Painting nor Sculp 
ture proved propitious, a great reverence and love of 
Art was born in me at this time. Possibly a love and 
reverence all the more intense, because Art became 
to me, individually, an unattainable thing. I remem- 
ber passing many hours, at this period, in what would 
certainly have been durance vile, had I not been fired 
with a lofty ambition. Mr. Edwin White was sketch- 
ing in a picture which called for two figures — an old 
man and a child. The old man was easily obtained, 
a beautiful professional model of advanced yeais ; 
but the child was not so readily found. I was filled 
with secret joy when it was suggested to me that 1 
should be the required model. I was enchanted when 
the permission was given me to perform this impor- 
tant service. This was before the time of the long 
illness to which I referred in the beginning of this 
paper. The spending every morning for a week or so 
in Mr. White's studio implied the being excused 
from French verbs and Italian translations. What a 
happy life, I thought, to be a model ! I envied the 



A Child in Florence. 

beautiful old patriarch with whom I was associated in 
this picture. Kneeling beside him, as I was in- 
structed to do, I thought what bliss it would be to be 
associated with him always, and to go about with him 
from studio to studio, posing for pictures. 

There must be an inspiration for artists in the very 
air of Florence. The beautiful city is filled with 
memorials of the past, painted and carved by the 
masters passed away. I suppose that artists are 
constantly aroused to the wish to do great things by 
the sight of what these others have accomplished. 
Then, too, the history of the past, the religion of the 
past, are such realities in Florence. The artist feels 
called upon to interpret them, not as dead fancies, 
but as facts. The mythology of the Greeks and 
Romans meets one at every turn. I, for one, was 
as intimately acquainted with the family history of 
Venus, of Ceres, of Pallas, of Persephone, as with 
that of Queen Elizabeth, of Catherine de Medici, of 
Henrietta Maria. Nay, I was more intimate with thij 
delightful elder set. 

The heathen gods reigned sylvanly in the Boboli 
Gardens, and it was there that I formed a most inti- 
mate personal acquaintance with them. The Boboli 
Gardens are the gardens of the Pitti Palace, an im- 
mense, unlovely pile, the memorial of the ambition 



A Child in Florence: 

of the Marquis Pitti, who reared it. He had vowed 
*hat he would build a palace large enough to hold in 
its court-yard the palace of his hated rival, the Marquis 
Strozzi. He was as good as his word ; but in carry- 
ing out his designs he ruined his fortune. The vast 
palace, when completed, passed out of his hands into 
those of the Medici, then the Dukes of Florence. 
Afterwards it became the residence of the foreign 
rulers of Florence. When I remember the city, 
Austrian soldiers guarded the great gateway of the 
Pitti, and marched up and down the court-yards ; 
and the showy white uniforms of Austrian officers 
were conspicuous in the ante-chambers and guard- 
rooms. 

But behind the great palace, the fair Boboli Gar- 
dens spread away. There was a statue of Ceres 
crowning a terrace, up to which climbed other terraces 
— an amphitheatre of terraces, in truth, from a fish- 
pond in the centre — which commanded the city 
through which the Arno flowed. Many a sunny day 
have we children — my sisters and I — sat at the 
base of this statue and gossiped about Ceres, beau- 
tiful Mother Nature, and her daughter, who was 
stolen from her by the Dark King. Further down, 
on a lower slope, was a statue of Pallas, with her 
calm, resolute face, her helmet, her spear, her owl. 



A Child in Florence. 

I remember that Millie and Eva and I were especially 
fond of this Pallas. I used to wonder why it was 
that men should ever have been votaries of Venus 
rather than of her. I have ceased to wonder at this, 
since then ; but in those days I especially criticized 
a statue of Venus, after the well-known Venus of 
Canova, which impressed me as insipid. This statue 
stood hard by the severe majesty of Pallas, white 
against a background of oleanders and laurestines. 

Then there was a second fish-pond, in the centre 
of which was an orange-island, about which tritons 
and mermen and mermaids were disposed. I can see 
their good-humored, gay — nay, some of them were 
even leering — faces, still. Soulless creatures these, 
we were well aware, and so were sorry for them. 
The immortal gods, of course, we credited with souls ; 
but these — with the wood-nymphs, and bacchantes, 
and satyrs, that we were apt to come upon all through 
tlie garden, — these we classed as only on a level a 
trifle higher than thart of the trees, and brooks, into 
which some of them had been transformed in the 
course of the vicissitudes of their careers. 

Perhaps it is because the spirit of the old religion 
so took possession of me in that Italian garden, that 
to this day the woods, and the dells, and the rocks, 



A Child in Florence. 

seem to me to be the embodied forms of living crea-- 
tures. A Daplme waves her arms from the laurel- 
tree ; a Clytie forever turns to her sun-lover, in the 
sunllower. 




CHAPTER II. 

THE two public picture galleries of Florence — 
the Pitti and the Uffizi — are on either side of 
the Arno. They are connected by a covered way, 
which runs along over the roofs of houses, and crosses 
the jewelers' bridge, so called because upon it are 
built the shops of all the jewelers in town, — or so it 
would seem at first sight. At all events, here are 
nothing but jewelers' shops ; small shops, such as I 
imagine the shops of the middle ages to have been. 
But in the narrow windows, and in the unostentatious 
show-cases, are displayed most exquisite workmanship 
in Florentine mosaic, in turquoise, in malakite, ex- 
quisite as to the quality of the mosaic and the charac- 
ter of the designs in which the earrings, brooches, 
bracelets, were made up. As a rule, however, the gold- 
work was inferior, and the settings were very apt to 
come apart, and the pins to break and bend, after a 
very short wear. 



A Child in Florence. 

Sauntering across this bridge, one passes, on his 
way to the Uffizi, various shops in narrow streets, 
where the silks of Florentine manufacture are dis- 
played. Such pretty silks, dear girls, and so cheap ! 
For a mere song you may go dressed like the butter- 
flies, in Florence, clad in bright, sheeny raiment, spun 
by native worms out of native mulberry leaves. 
Equally cheap are the cameos, and the coral, that are 
brought here from neighboring Naples, and the tur- 
quoises, imported directly from the Eastern market, 
and the mosaics, inlaid of precious stones in Florence 
herself. 

So we come out upon the Piazza, or Square, of the 
Uffizi. The Uffizi Palace itself is of irregular form, 
and inclosed by loggiae, or covered colonnades. In 
front of the palace stands the David of Michael 
Angelo, in its strong beauty. Michael Angelo said of 
this that " the only test for a statue is the light of a 
public square." To this test the David has been 
subjected for over three hundred years, and still, in 
the searching light of day, stand revealed the courage 
and the faith and the strength of the young man who 
went forth to do battle with the giant, " In the name 
of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the armies of 
Israel." And who shall say to how many of us 
Michael Angelo does not preach, across the centu- 



A Child in Florence. 

ries, a sermon in stone, as we stand before his David ? 
— as we recall what Giants of Doubt, of Passion, of 
Pride, we, too, are called upon to battle with in our 
day? 

In a square portico, or loggia, giving upon the 
Piazza, is a statue of Perseus, another slayer of mon- 
sters, or, rather, a slayer of monsters in another 
realm. It was this Perseus to whom Pallas gave a 
mirror-shield of burnished brass, whom Mercury armed 
with an adamantine scythe, giving him also wings on 
his feet. It was this Perseus who slew the Gorgon 
Princess Medusa. In the statue, the fatal head of 
Medusa, vvith its stony stare, is held aloft by the war- 
rior, who is trampling upon the headless trunk. This 
head had, in death as in life, the power of turning 
many men to stone, and was thus made use of by 
Perseus against other enemies of his. The subject 
of the stony-eyed Gorgon possessed, apparently, a 
curious fascination for artists. There is a famous 
head painted on wood by Leonardo da Vinci, besides 
this statue by Benvenuto Cellini, in the Uffizi. 

How, as a child, I used to puzzle over the strange 
fable in both statue and picture ! But, since then, 
I have had experience of Gorgon natures in real life ; 
natures that chilled and repressed, stupefied all with 
whom they came in contact ; and I wonder less at the 



A Child in Florence. 

fable, and 1 pass the word on to you, that you may 
know, when unsympathetic surroundings chill your 
heart and blunt your feelings, and subdue your better 
self, that you are being haunted by Da Vinci's very 
Medusa, by Gellini's very Medusa, snaky locks, fixed 
eyes, impassive deadness. 

Into the great Uffizi Palace : up the wide marble 
stairway, into the long gallery that opens into the im- 
mense suite of rooms hung with pictures ; the gallery 
hung with pictures, too, and set with statues. 

How I wish I could make you see with my eyes ! 
How I wish I could be to you something more than a 
mere traveler, telling what / have seen ! That long 
corridor, windows on one side, statues and pictures on 
the other, always seems to me like a nursery for love 
of art. At the far end are the quaint pictures of 
Giotto and Cimabue. Then the reverent, religious 
paintings of Fra Angelico. Oh, those sweet-faced, 
golden-haired angels I Oh, the glimpse into the land 
seen by faith, inhabited by shining ones ! Oh, the 
radiance of those pictures ! The gold back-grounds, 
the bright faces, the happy effect of them ! The ar- 
tists believed Xh^m. with all their souls, as Ruskin has 
said ] so they painted pictures which recall the refrain 
of Bernard de Cluny's Rhyme of the Celestial Country. 
Presently pictures by Perugino, Raphael's master, and 



A Child in Florence. 

— quite at the other end of the gallery — the portrait 
of Raphael, painted by himself. This picture is on 
an easel, and stands apart. Are you familiar with 
Raphael's beautiful, calm, young face ? It is a face 
which has passed into a proverb for beauty and 
serenity. A velvet cap is pushed off the pure brow ; 
the hair is long and waving ; the eyes are large and 
dark and abstracted. I always stood before this pict- 
ure as before a shrine. 

All the way down the gallery are statues and busts. 
There are the Roman emperors, far more familiar to me 
through their counterfeit presentments than through 
the pages of history. Augustus, Diocletian, Trajan : 
to us girls they were studies in hair-dressing, if in 
nothing else. Some of them with flowing locks, some 
with close, short curls, some with hair parted in the 
middle and laid in long, smooth curls, like a woman. 
Of such was Heliogabulus, and of such was Vitellius. 

One morning — soon after we came to Florence — 
we started off upon a quest — through the Uffizi — 
Millie, Eva and I, and our elders. The object of 
our quest was no less a goddess than she called of 
the Medici. 

I remember that we wandered down the long gallery 
I have described, and through room after room. It 
was the fancy of our mamma, and the uncle who was 



A Child in Florence. 

taking care of us all, to find their way about for them- 
selves. For instance : if we had been told that a 
certain picture, by a certain master, was to be found 
in a certain palace, we roamed in and out around the 
other pictures until the picture revealed itself to us. It 
was surprising how seldom we were deceived in this 
method of ours. We would pass by dozens of pict- 
ures by inferior artists, completely unmoved ; then, 
suddenly, a thrilling vision of beauty would glow upon 
us, and we would acknowledge ourselves to be in a 
royal presence-chamber. 

Such a presence-chamber is the Tribune in the 
Uffizi palace. We came upon many marble Venuses 
before we arrived in this Tribune, a large, octagon 
room, with a domed ceiling, blue, flecked with gold 
stars; but we passed them all by — until finally we 
entered the reverent stillness which is kept about the 
Venus of Venuses. We recognized .her at once. 
There she stood, in that silent room, the light subdued 
to a judicious mellowness — beautiful with the fresh, 
smiling beauty of perpetual youth ; beautiful with the 
same beauty that gladdened the heart of the Greek 
artist who carved her, hundreds of years ago ; so 
many hundreds of years that the marble has in con- 
sequence, the rich cream-color of old ivory. 

In this same Tribune hangs the portrait of a beau- 



A Child in Florence. 

tiful young woman, called the Fornarina. Of her only 
this is known, that she was the beloved of Raphael, 
and that she was the daughter of a baker in Rome, 
Fornarina means little bakeress, or, perhaps we 
should say, baker-girl. But this Fornarina might be 
a princess. An "ox-eyed Juno" princess, dark and 
glowing, with a serene composure about her that one 
remembers as her most striking characteristic. 

Raphael's lady-love. Millie and I knew more 
about her than was ever written* in books. Not relia- 
ble gossip — gossip of our own invention, but gossip 
that delighted our hearts. 

Other pictures by Raphael hang here, too. How 
distinctly I recall them. How vivid .are all the works 
of this great painter ! The critics say that one who 
excelled in so many things, excelled also in expression. 
Yes. It is this which gives to his pictures the dis- 
tinctness of photographs from life. They are dra- 
matic. They take you at once into the spirit of the 
scene represented. They are full of soul, and herein 
lies the great difference between Raphael's works and 
those of other schools, the Venetian, for instance. 
The painters of Venice aimed at effects of color; 
Raphael used color only in order to express a loftier 
thought. 

Are you tired of the Ufhzi ? Come with me, for a 



A Child in Florence. 

few minutes, before we go, into the Hall of Niobe. 
Words fail me to relate with what mingled emotions 
of sympathy, distress and delight we children used to 
haunt this hall, and examine each sculptured form in 
turn. The story goes that Niobe incurred the dis- 
pleasure of Diana and Apollo, who wreaked their 
vengeance upon the mother by killing her fourteen 
children. At the head of the hall stands Niobe, con- 
vulsed with grief, vainly imploring the angry brother 
and sister to show compassion, and at the same time 
protecting the youngest child, who is clinging to her. 
But we feel that both intercession and protection will 
be in vain. On the other side of the hall are her sons 
and daughters. Some already pierced with arrows, 
stiff in death ; some in the attitude of flight, some 
staggering to the ground. It is an easy matter for the 
imagination to picture the supreme moment when, be- 
reft of all her children, the mother's heart breaks, and 
she is turned to stone. The legend relates that that 
stone wept tears. Nor was it a difficult matter for 
me to take this on faith. What is more, many is the 
time I have planted myself before the very marble 
Niobe in the Uffizi, firmly expecting to see the tears 
flow down her cheeks. 

So we come out upon the streets of Florence again. 



A Child in Florence. 



Fair Florence, the narrow Arno dividing her, the pur- 
ple Appennines shutting her in the Arno's fertile 
valley. Flower-women stop us on the streets, and 

offer us flow- 
ers. Flower- 
women who 
are not as 
pretty as they 
are wont to be 
at fancy-dress 
parties; they 
are apt to be 
heavy and 
mid -die -aged, 
i n fact, one 
of them, the 
handsomest of 
the band, has 
a scar on her 
face, and a tinge of romance attached to her name. 
It is whispered about that her lover's dagger inflicted 
the scar, in a fit of jealousy. Once I myself saw a 
look flash into her eyes, when something was said to 
offend her by a passer-by on the street, which sug- 
gested the idea that she might have used her dagger 




La i OkNARINA Oh TiiE UfFIZI, AT FLORENCE. 



A Child in Florence. 

in return. It was the look of a tiger aroused. And 
after that I never quite lost sight of the smothered 
fire in those black eyes of hers. 

I used to wonder why I saw so few pretty faces in 
Florence. Moreover, how lovely the American ladies 
always looked in contrast with the swarthy,^ heavy 
Tuscan women. As a rule, that is. Of course, there 
were plain Americans and handsome Tuscans ; but 
our countrywomen certainly bear off the palm for deli- 
cacy of feature and coloring. Still, the Tuscan peas- 
ant-girls make a fine show, with their broad flats of 
Leghorn straw ; and when they are married they are 
invariably adorned with strings of Roman pearls about 
their necks. So many rows of pearls counts for so 
much worldly wealth. 

I stroll on, stopping to look in at the picture stores, 
or coming to an enraptured pause before a cellar-way 
piled up with rare and fragrant flowers, such as one 
sees seldom out of Florence — the City of Flowers. 



CHAPTER III. 

ONE summer we lived in a villa a short distance 
outside the gates of Florence. For Florence 
had gates in those days, and was a walled city, kept 
by Austrian sentinels. That was the time of the 
Austrian occupation. Since then, Solferino and 
Magenta have been fought, and the treaty of Villa- 
franca has been signed, and now, " Italy's one, from 
mountain to sea 1" — 

" King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, 

And his flag takes all heaven with its white, green and red." 

But then the Florentines bowed their necks under 
a hated foreign yoke, scowling when they dared at a 
retreating " maledetto Tedesco " (cursed German). 

The phrase " white, green and red " recalls to me 
the fire-balloons we used to send up from our villa 
garden, on the summer nights of long ago. We had, 
for our Italian tutor, an enthusiastic patriot, who had 



A Child in Florence. 

fought in the ItaUan ranks in '48, and who was looking 
forward to shouldering a musket soon again. It 
afforded him intense gratification to send the national 
colors floating out over Florence. Our villa was built 
on a hill-side, commanding a fine view of the Val 
d'Arno, and of the City of Flowers herself, domed, 
campaniled, spired. The longer the voyages made 
by our balloons, the higher rose the spirits of our 
Signor Vicenzo. He regarded these airy nothings, 
made by his own hands, of tissue paper and alcohol, 
as omens of good or ill to his beloved country. 

I suppose he was a fair type of his countrymen 
intensely dramatic, with a native facility of expression. 
One notices this facility of expression among all 
classes. The Italians have an eloquent sign-language 
of their own, in which they are as proficient as in the 
language of spoken words. It is charming to see 
two neighbors communicating with each other across 
the street, without uttering a syllable, by the means 
of animated gestures. It seems a natural sequence 
that they should be a people of artists. 

Such long rambles as my sisters and I and our 
maid Assunta took, starting from the villa ! Assunta 
was the daughter of a neighboring countryman of the 
better sort, who cultivated a grape vineyard and an 
olive field, besides keeping a dairy. We had a way 



A Child in Florence. 

of happening by in the evening in time for a glass of 
warm milk. Assunta's mother supplied our table 
with milk and butter daily, moreover; butter made 
into tiny pats and done up daintily in grape leaves, 
never salted, by the way; milk put up in flasks 
cased in straw, such as are also used for the native 
wine. Was it the unfailing appetite of childhood, or 
was that milk and butter really superior to any I have 
ever tasted since ? What charming breakfasts recur 
to me ! Semele, as we called our baker's rolls ; a 
golden circle of butter on its own leaf ; great figs 
bursting with juicy sweetness ; milk. 

How good those figs used to taste for lunch, too 
when we would pay a few crazis for the privilege of 
helping ourselves to them off the fig-trees in some 
podere (orchard, vineyard), inclosed in its own stone 
wall, on which scarlet poppies waved in the golden 
sunlight, beneath the blue, blue skies. Am I waxing 
descriptive and dull? Well, dear girls, I wish you 
could have shared those days with me. Roaming 
about those hill-sides, my sisters and I peopled them 
with the creatures of our own imaginations, as well 
as those of other people's imaginations, to say nothing 
of veritable historical characters. We read and 
re-read Roger's Italy. Do you know that enchanting 
book? Can you say by heart, as Millie, Eva and I 



A Child in Florence. 

could, "Ginevra," and " Luigi," and "The Brides of 
Venice " ? I wonder if I should like that poetry now? 
I -loved it then. Also, I date my knowledge of Byron 
to that same epoch. We children devoured the de- 
scriptions in "Childe Harold," and absorbed "The 
Two Foscari," which otherwise we would perhaps 
have never read. Byron was the poet of our fathers 
and mothers ; but in these early days dramatic and 
narrative poetry was more intelligible than the mysti- 
cism of Tennyson and the Brownings, so enchanting 
to me now. 

One evening, some friends who occupied a neigh- 
boring villa invited mamma to be present at the read- 
ing of a manuscript poem by an American poet, 
Buchanan Read. I was permitted to go, too, and 
was fully alive to the dignity of the occasion. Mr. 
Read was making a reputation rapidly ; there was no 
telling what might be in store for him. The generous 
hand of brother artists in Florence all cheered him 
on his way, and accorded to him precisely that kind 
of sympathetic encouragement which his peculiar na- 
ture required. The group of interested, friendly 
faces in the salon at Villa Allori rises up before me as 
1 write, on the evening when Mr. Read, occupying a 
central position, read aloud, in his charming, trained 
voice. 



A Child in Florence. 

I remember that, in the pauses of the reading, Mr, 
Powers, who was present, amused one or two children 
about him by drawing odd little caricatures on a stray 
bit of note paper, which is, by the way, still in my 
possession. Doubtless Mr. Powers' reputation rests 
upon his statues, not his caricatures ; yet these par- 
ticular ones have an immense value for me, dashed 
off with a twinkle in the artist's beautiful dark eyes. 

There was also present on this occasion a beautiful 
young lady, for whom Mr. Read had just written 
some birthday verses, which he read to us, after 
having completed the reading of the larger manu- 
script. Those birthday verses have haunted me ever 
since, and this, although I cannot recall a word of 
the more ambitious poem. 

Mr. Powers had lived for so many years in Florence 
that he was by right of that, if by no other right, the 
patriarch of the American colony there. He and 
his large family were most intensely American, in 
spite of their long expatriation. His was emphatically 
an American home, as completely so as though the 
Arno and the Appenines had been, instead, the 
Mississippi and the Alleghanies. This was no doubt 
due to the fact that Mrs. Powers was preeminently 
an American wife and mother, large-hearted and 
warm-hearted. She never forgot the household tradi- 




GOING TO THE PARTY. 



A Child in Florence. 

tions of her youth. She baked mince-pies and 
pumpkin-pies at Christmas and Thanksgiving, and 
dispensed these bounties to her countrymen with a 
lavish hand. Then, too, the Powers lived in a house, 
and not in an apartme/it, or, as we say, on a flat. 
The children ran up and down-stairs, and in and out 
their own yard, which lay between the dwelling-house 
and the studio, just as American children do. And 
in this genial, wholesome home an artist grew up in 
the second generation. A son of Mr. Powers is now 
making name and fame for himself in his father's 
profession. 

It has been said that the beautiful face of the 
eldest daughter of this family is suggested in her 
father's "Greek Slave." I looked up to her then 
with the respect which a child feels for an elder girl, 
"a young lady in society." I can appreciate now 
and admire, even more than I did then, the extreme 
simplicity and unconsciousness which so well accorded 
with her grand, classic beauty. She was the good 
fairy at a Christmas Tree Festival, to which all the 
American girls and boys in Florence were bidden, on 
the twenty-fifth of December. We were all presented 
with most exquisitely made bonbonnieres, chiefly of 
home manufacture. We were feasted on doughnuts 
which brought tears to some of our eyes; dear 



A Child in Florence. 

American doughnuts, that might have been fried in 
the land of the free. We had French candy ad 
libitum; but there was also on exhibition a pound or 
so of genuine American stick candy, sucli as we see 
by the busliel in this country, and which had been 
brouglit over from the United States by a friend 
recently arrived, at Mrs. Powers' special request. 
We examined this stick candy with patriotic enthu- 
siasm. We ate little bits of it, and thought it infinitely 
better than our candied fruits and chocolate creams. 
Doubtless this little incident here recalled will account 
for the fact that I always associate peppermint stick 
candy with the flag of the Union. It is an unfortu- 
nate caprice of mind ; but, nevertheless, the national 
stripes always rise before me when I see these red 
and white sticks. 

I am inclined to the belief that exiles make the 
best patriots. We American children stood up fiercely 
for our own native land, whenever the question as to 
national superiority arose between ourselves and 
English, French, or Italian children, — especially the 
English. With these we fought the Revolutionary 
war all over again, hotly, if injudiciously. And I am 
confident that we had a personal and individual sense 
of superiority over them. No doubt we were endowed, 
even at that early age, with the proverbial national 



A Child in Florence, 

conceit. Some one had told me that every American^ 
was a sovereign, and that I was consequently a prin- 
cess in my own right. This became a conviction 
with me, and greatly increased my self-importance. 
How glorious to be the citizen of a country of such 
magnificent gifts of citizenship ! 

But to return to Mr. Powers. His statue of Cali- 
fornia was on exhibition at this time. This is, to my 
mind, the most noble and impressive of his works. 
The stro»g, resolute face, of classic outlines, and of 
the sterner type of beauty, bears a distinct resem- 
blance to the sculptor's second daughter, although 
by no means a portrait. It has been told me 
that one of the fathers of our American church, 
traveling in Italy, suggested an important alteration 
in this statue. California originally carried in her 
hand a bar, supposed to represent a bar of solid gold. 
The idea occurred to the bishop that were this 
smooth bar — which might mean anything — made 
to represent a nugget of gold in the rough, the point 
of the story would be far more effectively told ; and 
on this idea the bishop spoke. The sculptor was 
impressed directly, and with all the unaffected sim- 
plicity of real genius he thanked his critic for the 
hint. California now displays her symbolic nugget ; 
and, moreover, about her head is designed a fillet of 
bits of ore in the rough. 



A Child in Florence. 

The America of Powers is another impiessive and 
beautiful female form. A vision of the sculptor comes 
before my eyes, standing in front of this statue, and 
talking it over with a party of visitors. Such a beau- 
tiful, simple-mannered man — with his mild dark eyes 
and serene face ! He wore the usual blouse and 
linen apron, and the cap of the sculptor. He held his 
chisel in his hand as he conversed. Some of his 
audience did not agree with him in the peculiar politi- 
cal views he held. But Mr, Powers would not argue, 
and what need ? Had he no'; preached his sermon in 
stone, and eloquently ? 



CHEERFUL WORDS* 

In the whole range of Englisli literature we can call to 
mind the works of no single author to which the title,, 
"Cheerful Words," can more properly apply than to those of 
George Macdonald. It exactly expresses the element which 
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cheers, which instills new light and life into the doubting or 
discouraged soul, and incites i, to fresh effort. 

In the volume before us the editor has brought together, 
with a careful and judicious hand, some of the choicest pas- 
sages from Macdonald's woiks, written in various keys and 
upon various subjects, but all marked by healthy sentiment 
and sunshiny feeling. In quoting what a late critic has said 
of the " electrical consciousness" which characterizes his 
writings, the editor remarks: "The breadth and manliness 
of tone and sentiment, the deep perceptions of human 
nature, the originality, fancy and pathos, the fresh, oiit-of- 
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underlies all his writings, give to the works of George Mac- 
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And in the selections here made that power is singularly ap- 
parent. By turns they touch the heart, fire the imagination, 
moisten the eyes, arouse the sympathies, and bring into 
active exercise the better feelings and instincts of mind aiid 
heart. 

The introduction to the volume is from the pen of James 
r. Fields, a persona/ friend and ardent admirer of the au- 
thor. He regards Macdonald as a master of his art, and 
believes in holding up for admiration those like him. who 
have borne witness to the eternal beauty and cheerful capa- 
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reminding us, whenever they write, of the " holiness of help- 
fulness." 

♦Cheerful WorHs. By George Macdonald Introduction by James T 
Fields, and Biography by Einma E. Brown. Spare Minute Series. Boston 
O. Lothrop & Co. Price fi.oo. 



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